‘He said there were bad wounds.’

The Sister threw up her hands.

’How he ever managed to do the walking he must have done to get through the lines is a mystery to us all.  What he must have endured!  The wounds must have been dressed to begin with in a German field-hospital.  Then on his way to Germany, before the wounds had properly healed—­that at least is our theory—­somewhere near the Belgian frontier he must have made his escape.  What happened then, of course, during the winter and spring nobody knows; but when he reached our lines, the wounds were both in a septic state.  There have been two operations for gangrene since he has been here.  I don’t think he’ll stand another.’

Bridget lifted her eyes and looked intently at the speaker—­

‘You think he’s very ill?’

‘Very ill,’ said the Sister emphatically.  ’If you can identify him, you must send for his wife at once—­at once!  Lieutenant Sarratt was, I think, married?’

‘Yes,’ said Bridget.  ‘Now may I see him?’

The Sister looked at her visitor curiously.  She was both puzzled and repelled by Bridget’s manner, by its lack of spring and cordiality, its dull suggestion of something reserved and held back.  But perhaps the woman was only shy; and oppressed by the responsibility of what she had come to do.  The Sister was a very human person, and took tolerant views of everything that was not German.  She rose, saying gently—­

’If I may advise you, take time to watch him, before you form or express any opinion.  We won’t hurry you.’

Bridget followed her guide a few steps along the corridor.  The Sister opened a door, and stood aside to let Bridget pass in.  Then she came in herself, and beckoned to a young probationer who was rolling bandages on the further side of the only bed the room contained.  The girl quietly put down her work and went out.

There was a man lying in the bed, and Bridget looked at him.  Her heart beat so fast, that she felt for a moment sick and suffocated.  The Sister bent over him tenderly, and put back the hair, the grey hair which had fallen over his forehead.  At the touch, his eyes opened, and as he saw the Sister’s face he very faintly smiled.  Bridget suddenly put out a hand and steadied herself by a chair standing beside the bed.  The Sister however saw nothing but the face on the pillow, and the smile.  The smile was so rare!—­it was the one sufficient reward for all his nurses did for him.

‘Now I’ll leave you,’ said the Sister, forbearing to ask any further questions.  ’Won’t you sit down there?  If you want anyone, you have only to touch that bell.’

She disappeared.  And Bridget sat down, her eyes on the figure in the bed, and on the hand outside the sheet.  Her own hands were trembling, as they lay crossed upon her lap.

How grey and thin the hair was—­how ghostly the face—­what suffering in every line!