And there are dozens of them, Miss, in this village.

Oh, Mary is glad to go.

She nursed her mother for years, and then her father for years.

She never had a day's pleasure, and she was as good as gold.' Elizabeth held the clammy, misshapen hand, pressing her lips to it when she rose to go, as to the garment of a saint.
Then she walked quickly back through the fading spring day, her heart torn with prayer and remorse--remorse that such a life as Mary Wilson's should have been possible within reach of her own life and she not know it; and passionate praying for a better world, through and after the long anguish of the war.
'Else for what will these boys have given their lives!--what meaning in the suffering and the agony!--or in the world which permits and begets them ?' Then, at last, it was past seven o'clock.

The dusk had fallen, and the stars were coming out in a pure pale blue, over the leafless trees.