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The chart-nurse looked in to say that the Medical officers of the Garrison Staff were making the rounds, and was stricken to the soul by the discovery that the Reverend Julius Fraithorn had had no breakfast.
"You know his father, the Bishop of H ? Such a dear little trotty old man, with the kind of rosy, withered-apple face that suggests a dear little trotty old woman, disguised in an episcopal apron and gaiters, and with funny little bits of white fur glued on here and there for whiskers and eyebrows. We met him with Mrs. Fraithorn at the Hôtel Schwert at Appenbad one June. Do you know Appenbad?
Margaret's, Wendish Street; now happily recovered, thanks to the skill of Dr. Saxham, from an illness, held at no recent date to be incurable. Mr. Fraithorn has undertaken the onerous duties of Chaplain to the Hospitals in charge of the Military Staff. It was gratifying to observe," she continues, "that the Colonel commanding graced the occasion by his martial presence.
He applied balm as he knew how. "Your being a woman may have made all the difference for Fraithorn. I shall set Taggart of the R.A.M.C. at him to-morrow; the Major's a bit of a crack at pulmonary cases. And he shall consult with Saxham, and " "Saxham." Her eyebrows were knitted. "I thought I knew the names of your Medical Staff men. But I can't recall a Saxham."
But no shadow of a Dop Doctor who once reeled the streets of Gueldersdorp rises from those clear brown depths as the speaker ends, "Don't underestimate the power of the Human Will, Fraithorn, for it can remove mountains, and raise the living dead."
Fraithorn, if the idea is not unwelcome to you, I myself will sign the book, and" he stooped over the bed and laid his hard, soldierly hand kindly on the pale one "in the event of a less fortunate termination than that we hope for" the faces of the three surgeons were a study in inscrutability "I will communicate, as soon as any communication is rendered possible, with the Bishop and Mrs.
The rest was delicious, the peaceful quiet enchanting, the air sweet after the fetid odours of the town; and it was sweet, too, whenever she glanced at the Reverend Julius Fraithorn, who was lying at her feet, or Beauvayse, who fanned her alternately with a leafy branch and the tea-tray, to behold her own beauty reflected in the admiring eyes of two young and handsome men.
A blue line marks itself about his mouth; he is conscious of a qualm of positive nausea as he says: "You you don't mean you have been talking of a man you have shot?" "Just so," assents Saxham, and the sentence that follows is not uttered aloud. "And I wish with all my soul that the man had shot me!" "And this is War," says Julius Fraithorn.
Her quick glance read something amiss in another face. "Mother, how tired you look! Please bring that little camp-stool, Mr. Fraithorn. Oh, thank you, Dr. Saxham; that one with arms is more comfortable. Colonel, we're all under your command. Won't you please order the Mother to sit down and rest? She will be so tired to-morrow. Dearest, you know you will."
One of them is an old friend." "I know whom you mean. If I didn't, her glare of envy would have enlightened me. Did I tell you that I encountered an old friend or, at least, a friend of old at the Hospital yesterday?" "You mean poor Fraithorn?" "Not at all. I'm only a friend of his mother. I had only heard of the boy, not met him, until I tumbled over him here.
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