"It is more than a week since I heard from him, Doctor. I am afraid--horribly afraid," she said in a low voice. "This terrible fighting----!" "The post is sometimes held up during active operations, Sister. You must not be prematurely anxious. A week is not very long. You must believe in his luck. He has had a charmed life so far," the M.O.'s kindly smile emphasised his reassuring tone. "He has--he has. And life always seems so--so vivid in him. I cannot imagine him"--her voice sank almost to inaudibility--"dead." "Don't!" He smiled, full of sympathy. "Believe in his star." His tone changed to the professional. "Would you like to go off duty, Sister? I will speak to the Matron. A car is going into town. Go and look at the shops." "No--no, Doctor, thank you very much. I won't leave my dear boys here. Poor lads! it does me good to fight for them--almost as if----" she stopped, turned away. "Very well, Sister. Send for me if any change occurs in Number Ten." The M.O. walked down the ward, throwing little glances at the silent patients, and departed. For some little time the Sister busied herself noiselessly about the ward. Then Number Ten stirred uneasily in his bed. "Sister!" he called in a faint voice. She was by his side in an instant. "A drink, please!" She gave it him, looked down on the young, strongly masculine features as he drank, with an interest that was subtly, unconsciously more than professional. From the moment of his arrival in the ward--even in his silences--Number Ten had been a personality. Though powerless in bed there was a curious hint of brute force in him. "Now you must go to sleep again, Captain Lavering," she said, smoothing his pillow. "I can't, Sister." His eyes closed and opened again in a spasm of pain. "I--I want to feel someone near me," his voice was very weak, "to get hold of life again. Sister, sit beside me--for a moment, please." She glanced at him irresolutely, smoothed the hair from his hot forehead with a cool hand, and then acceded to his request, seated herself on the chair by the bed. "But you mustn't talk!" she warned him. "I won't, Sister!" He was quiet for a moment. "Sister! I'm very bad, I know--but I'm not going to die! I won't die--I won't let myself die!" Despite his weakness, there was intense will-power in his tone. "Hush, hush! Of course you are not going to die." Involuntarily, she laid her hand upon the bed as if to transfuse some of her own life-force into him. He reached out a hand, grasped hers, resisted her attempt at withdrawal. "Please!--please!" he murmured. "I want to hold on to life--there's so much----" His eyes closed sleepily. "I feel life flowing into me," he said. The grip on her hand was tight. For a long time she sat thus, her hand clasped in his. Number Ten slept, with heavy breathing. It seemed to her that his fever diminished. She feared to withdraw herself lest she should awaken him. The long ward was deathly still.