The quiet night routine went on about him; the strong, pervasive odor of antiseptics; the padded tap of the nurses’ rubber soles as they went softly on their rounds; the occasional click of a glass and a spoon somewhere; the piteous wail of a suffering child in a distant ward; the sharp whir of an electric bell; the homely thud of the elevator on its errands up and down; even the controlled yet ready spring to service of all concerned when the ambulance rolled up and a man on a stretcher, with a ghastly cut in his head and face, was brought in; all made him feel how little and useless his life had been hitherto.  How suddenly he had been brought face to face with realities!

He began to wonder if the Presence was everywhere, or if there were places where His power was not manifest.  There had been the red library!  There also had been that church last Sunday.

The office clock chimed softly out the hour of three o’clock.  It was Sunday morning.  Should he go to church again and search for the Presence, or make up his mind that the churches were out of it entirely and that it was only in places of need and sorrow and suffering that He came?  Still, that was not fair to the churches, perhaps, to judge all by one.  What an experience the night had been!  Did Wittemore, majoring in philanthropy, ever spend nights like this?  If so, there must be depths to Wittemore’s nature that were worth sounding.

He drew his handkerchief from his inner pocket, and as he did so a whiff of violets came remindingly, but he paid no heed.  Gila’s letter lay in his pocket, still unread.  The antiseptics were at work upon his senses and the violets could not reach him.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was in a tumble, but he looked good to Nurse Wright as she came down the hall at last to give him her report.  She almost thought he was good enough for her Bonnie girl now.  She wasn’t given to romances, but she felt that Bonnie needed one most mightily about now.

“She didn’t wake up except to open her eyes and smile once,” she reported, reassuringly.  “She coughs a little now and then, with a nasty sound in it, but I hope we can ward off pneumonia.  It was great of you to put your overcoat around her.  That saved her, if anything can, I guess.  You look pretty well used up yourself.  Wouldn’t you like the doctor to give you something before you go home?”

“No, thank you.  I’ll be all right.  I’m hard as nails.  I’m only anxious about her.  You see, she’s had a pretty tough pull of it.  She started to walk to the city!  Did you know that?  I fancy she’d gone about two miles.  It was somewhere along near the river I found her.  It seems she got “all in” and sat down on a door-step to rest.  She must have fallen asleep.  Some tough fellows came out of a saloon—­they were full, of course—­and they discovered her.  I heard her scream, and we had quite a little scuffle before we got away.  She’s a nervy little girl.  Think of her starting to walk to the city at that time of night, without a cent in her pocket!”