"My shame is my pride! Do you understand!" Outraged, quivering all over, she twisted out of his grasp.
"Then go to her!" she whispered.

"Why don't you go to her ?" And, as his angry eyes became blank: "Don't you understand?
She is there--just across the road!" She flung open the window and pointed with shaking anger.
"Didn't anybody tell you she is there?
Then I'll tell you.

Now go to her! You are--worthy--of one another!" "Of whom are you speaking--in God's name!" he breathed.
Panting, flushed, flat against the wall, she looked back out of eyes that had become dark and wide, fumbling in the bosom of her gray garb.

And, just where the scarlet heart was stitched across her breast, she drew out a letter, and, her fascinated gaze still fixed on him, extended her arm.
He took the crumpled sheets from her in a dazed sort of way, but did not look at them.
"_Who_ is there--across the road ?" he repeated stupidly.
"Ask--Miss--Lynden." "Letty!" But she suddenly turned and slipped swiftly past him, leaving him there in the corridor by the open window, holding the letter in his hand.
For a while he remained there, leaning against the wall.

Sounds from the other ward came indistinctly--a stifled cry, a deep groan, the hurried tread of feet, the opening or closing of windows.