Quivering all over, Celia stooped to lift, relight it, and set it on the table.

And, over her shoulder, he saw a slim shape enter the doorway.
"Mother dear ?" he whispered.
And Celia turned with a cry and stood swaying there in the rays of the candle.
But it was only a Sister of Charity--a slim, childish figure under the wide white head-dress--who had halted, startled at Celia's cry.
She was looking for the Division Medical Director, and the sentries had misinformed her--and she was very sorry, very deeply distressed to have frightened anybody--but the case was urgent--a Sister shot near the picket line on Monday; and authority to send her North was, what she had come to seek.

Because the Sister had lost her mind completely, had gone insane, and no longer knew them, knew nobody, not even herself, nor the hospital, nor the doctors, nor even that she lay on a battle-field.

And she was saying strange and dreadful things about herself and about people nobody had ever heard of.

.