‘Nelly dear—­what do you mean?’

A faint little smile crossed Nelly’s face.

‘Oh, nothing—­only;—­’ she sighed again—­’It’s so splendid!  Such a will!—­such a faith!  No one thinks like that now.  No one is willing to be “the corn of God."’

‘Oh, yes they are!’ said Hester, passionately.  ’There are thousands of men—­and women—­in this war, who are willing to do everything—­suffer everything—­for others—­their country—­their people at home.’

‘Well, then they’re happy!—­and why hold anyone back?’ said Nelly, with soft reproach.  And letting her head drop on Hester’s shoulder, she said, slowly—­

‘Let me go, dear Hester—­let me go!  It’s drudgery I want—­drudgery’ she repeated with intensity.  ’Something that I don’t want to do—­something that’s against the grain—­all day long.’  Then she laughed and roused herself.  ’Not much likeness between me and St. Ignatius, is there?’

Hester considered her gravely.

’When people like you are wrestling all day and every day with something too hard for them, their strength gives way.  They think they can do it, but they can’t.’

‘My strength won’t give way,’ said Nelly, with quiet conviction.  Then, after pausing a moment, she said with a strange ardour—­’I once heard a story—­a true story—­of a man, who burnt his own hand off, because it had struck his friend.  He held it in a flame till there was only the burnt stump, and after that he forgave himself and could bear to live again.’

‘But whom have you struck, you poor child!’ cried Hester.

‘George!’ said Nelly, looking at her with bitterly shining eyes.

Hester’s arms enfolded her, and they talked far into the night.  Before they separated, Hester had agreed that the date of Nelly’s departure should be not postponed, but quickened.

And during the few remaining days they were together, Hester could only notice with growing amazement the change in all the small ways and habits that had once characterised Nelly Sarratt—­especially since her Torquay illness; the small invalidisms and self-indulgences, the dependence on a servant or on Bridget.  Now the ascetic, penitential passion had come upon her; as it comes in different forms, upon many a man or woman in the selva oscura of their life; and Hester knew that there was no resisting it.

Hester went back to her ‘Welfare’ work.  Cicely travelled between Carton and London, collecting her trousseau and declaring that she would be married in Lent, whatever people might say.  Farrell was deeply engaged in introducing a new antiseptic treatment of an extremely costly kind throughout his hospital, in watching the results of it, and in giving facilities for the study of it, to the authorities and officials of all kinds who applied to him.  A sorrowful man—­but a very busy one.  Marsworth was making his mark in the Intelligence Department