THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE Philip lay long ill on board the hospital ship.

If his heart had been light, he might have rallied sooner; but he was so depressed he did not care to live.

His shattered jaw-bone, his burnt and blackened face, his many injuries of body, were torture to both his physical frame, and his sick, weary heart.

No more chance for him, if indeed there ever had been any, of returning gay and gallant, and thus regaining his wife's love.

This had been his poor, foolish vision in the first hour of his enlistment; and the vain dream had recurred more than once in the feverish stage of excitement which the new scenes into which he had been hurried as a recruit had called forth.