times with the keenest
curiosity, and perhaps a little hostility. She did not wonder at it; her
appearance had been so strange, and was still so lacking in explanation,
that they could not fail, after the influence of the battlefield itself
had somewhat passed, to be curious concerning her. But she added nothing
to what she had said, doing her work in silence.

The surgeon came at last and looked at Prescott's head and its bandages.
He was a thin man of middle age, and after his examination he nodded in
a satisfied way.

"You did this, I suppose," he said to Lucia--it was not the first woman
whom he had seen beside a wounded man. When she replied in the
affirmative, he added:

"I could not have done better myself. He's suffering chiefly from
concussion, and with good nursing he'll be fit for duty again in a few
weeks. You can stay with him, I suppose? You look strong, and women are
good for such work."

"Yes; I will stay with him," she replied, though she felt a sudden doubt
how she should arrange to do so.

The surgeon gave a few instructions and passed on--it was a busy night
for him and all his brethren, and they could not linger over one man.
Lucia still sat by the side of Prescott, applying cooling bandages,
according to the surgeon's instructions, and no one sought to interfere
with her.

The house, which contained so many wounded, was singularly quiet. Hardly
one of them groaned. There was merely the sound of feet moving softly.
Two or three lights burned very low. Outside was the same silence and
darkness. Men came in or went away and the others took no notice.

A man entered presently, a slender man, of no particular presence, with
veiled eyes, it seemed to Lucia, and she observed that his coming
created a faint rustle of interest, something that had not happened
with any other. He was not in uniform, and his first glance was for
Helen Harley. Then he came toward Lucia and, bending down, looked keenly
at the face of her patient.

"It is Captain Prescott," he said. "I am sorry. Is he badly hurt?"

"No," she replied; "he is suffering chiefly from concussion, the surgeon
says, and will be well again in two or three weeks."

"With good nursing?"

"Yes, with good nursing." She glaced up in a little surprise.

Revelation, comprehension, resolve, shot over James Sefton's face. He
was genuinely pleased, and as he glanced at Lucia Catherwood again her
answering gaze was full of understanding.

"Your na