t writing at her table;
and once there came to him an irresistible temptation to speak to her.
He felt that he wanted her near him, if only for a moment; he wanted to
lean on her--he wanted to be taken in her arms like a little child.
Angrily he closed his eyes again. It was ridiculous, absurd,
weak. . . . But there have been times in this war when the strongest
man has sobbed like a child in his weakness. . . .

"Sister!" Vane hardly recognised it as his own voice calling.
"Sister!" Margaret came towards him down the ward. "Could you get me
something to drink?"

In a moment she had returned with some lemonade. "I thought you were
asleep, Derek," she whispered. "Are you feeling feverish?"

She put a cool hand on his forehead, and with a sigh of relief Vane lay
back. "I'm frightened, Margaret," he said so low that she scarce could
hear him. "Just scared to death . . . of that boy opposite. Ain't I a
damned fool?"

Her only answer was the faintest perceptible pressure on his forehead.
Then his hand came up and took hers, and she felt the touch of his lips
on it. For a moment she let it rest there, and then gently withdrew
it, while with a tired sigh Vane closed his eyes. . . .

He slept maybe for two hours, and then he found himself wide awake
again--every nerve intent, like a man aroused by a sudden noise.
Margaret was reading at her table; the man at the other end still
groaned feebly in his sleep; the boy was staring dazedly at nothing in
particular--but there was something else. He knew it.

Suddenly Margaret put down her book, and half rose from her chair, as
if listening; and at the same moment the Gunner woke up. Then they all
heard it together--that high pitched, ominous drone which rises and
falls in a manner there is no mistaking.

"Boche," said the Gunner, "Boche, for a tanner. And lots of them."

"Damn the swine," muttered Vane. "Can't they even leave a hospital
alone?" The next minute any lingering hope was destroyed. Both men
heard it--the well-known whistling whooce of the bomb--the vicious
crack as it burst; both men felt the ground trembling through their
beds. That was the overture . . . the play was about to commence. . . .

All around them bombs rained down till the individual bursts merged
into one continuous roar. The earth shook and palpitated, and, to make
matters worse, the lights suddenly went out. The last thing Vane saw
was Margaret as she made her way, calmly and