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Berkley's Sister of Charity clung to his belt in silence for a while. After a mile or two she began to free her mind in regard to the distressing situation of her companion and herself.

You have asked, and that's why! Because I'm afraid in battle! if you want to know! afraid of getting hurt wounded killed! I don't know what I might do; I don't know! And if the world ever sees Private Ormond running away, they'll never know it was Constance Berkley's son. And that's why I changed my name!" "W-what?" she faltered. Then, revolted. "It is not true! You are not afraid!"

Berkley's attention was directed to it by a suspicious comrade; they both gazed at it curiously, listening to the low mutter of the cannonade; then Berkley frowned, folded both gauntlets, placed them in his belt, passed his hand over his freshly shaven chin, and, pocketing his cob pipe, sauntered forth to visit and gossip with those he knew in other camps.

Berkley silently assented. The doctor considered the matter in mind for a while, nursing his knees, then looking directly at Berkley: "Phil, you once told roe a deliberate falsehood." Berkley's face flushed scarlet, and he stiffened in every muscle. The doctor said: "I merely wanted you to understand that I knew it to be a falsehood when you uttered it.

The brilliant, ominous flies whirled overhead or drove headlong against the window-panes, falling on their backs to kick and buzz and scramble over the sill; slippered attendants moved softly along the aisle with medicines; once the ward-master came and looked down at Colonel Arran, touched the skin of his face, his pulse, and walked noiselessly away. Berkley's story had already ended.

Nicholas, Metropolitan, New York, Fifth Avenue, were all brilliantly thronged at night; cafes and concert halls like the Gaieties, Canterbury, and American, flourished and flaunted their advertisements; grills, restaurants, saloons, multiplied. There were none too many for Berkley's amusement.

His voice was drowned in the thunder of another gun; Celia made her way to him, hid her face on his breast as the room shook again and the plaster fell from the ceiling, filling the room with blinding dust. "Oh, Curt," she gasped, "this is dreadful. Philip cannot stay here " "Better pull the sheets over his head," said her husband, meeting Berkley's eyes with a ghost of a smile.

Private Burgess spends his time off duty under the oak trees out yonder watching your window like a dog. . . . I ah may say to you, Berkley, that you ah have become a credit to the regiment. Personally and as your commanding officer I wish you to understand that I am gratified by your conduct. I have said so in my official reports." Berkley's sunken eyes had reverted to the man beside him.

"I wish you to know how mother died," he said simply. "It is your right to know. . . . Because, there will come a time when she and you will be together again . . . if you believe such things." "I believe." For a while the murmur of Berkley's voice alone broke the silence.

Ailsa forced a smile; but her eyes remained on the door, behind which was a man who had held her in his arms. . . . And who might this girl be who came now to her with tales of Berkley's goodness, kindness shy stories of the excellence of the man who had killed in her the joy of living had nigh killed more than that?