Among these, too, there was variety. Some were stupid and ungracious, hardened and dulled with long penury as some in this world are hardened and dulled with long riches. Some were as fat as beggars; some were old and shrivelled; some were shrivelled and young; some were bold; some were frightened; and here and there was one almost fair. Down at the far end of one aisle was a bed whose occupant lay watching the distant, slowly approaching group with eyes of unspeakable dread. There was not a word or motion, only the steadfast gaze. Gradually the throng drew near. The faces of the students could be distinguished. This one was coarse; that one was gentle; another was sleepy; another trivial and silly; another heavy and sour; another tender and gracious. Presently the tones of the Doctor's voice could be heard, soft, clear, and without that trumpet quality that it had beyond the sick-room. How slowly, yet how surely, they came! The patient's eyes turned away toward the ceiling; they could not bear the slowness of the encounter. They closed; the lips moved in prayer. The group came to the bed that was only the fourth away; then to the third; then to the second. There they pause some minutes. Now the Doctor approaches the very next bed. Suddenly he notices this patient. She is a small woman, young, fair to see, and, with closed eyes and motionless form, is suffering an agony of consternation. One startled look, a suppressed exclamation, two steps forward,--the patient's eyes slowly open. Ah, me! It is Mary Richling. "Good-morning, madam," said the physician, with a cold and distant bow; and to the students, "We'll pass right along to the other side," and they moved into the next aisle. "I am a little pressed for time this morning," he presently remarked, as the students showed some unwillingness to be hurried. As soon as he could he parted with them and returned to the ward alone. As he moved again down among the sick, straight along this time, turning neither to right nor left, one of the Sisters of Charity--the hospital and its so-called nurses are under their oversight--touched his arm. He stopped impatiently. "Well, Sister"--(bowing his ear). "I--I--the--the"--His frown had scared away her power of speech. "Well, what is it, Sister?" "The--the last patient down on this side"-- He was further displeased. "_I'll_ attend to the patients, Sister," he said; and then, more kindly, "I'm going there now. No, you stay here, if you please." And he left her behind. He came and stood by the bed. The patient gazed on him. "Mrs. Richling," he softly began, and had to cease. She did not speak or move; she tried to smile, but her eyes filled, her lips quivered. "My dear madam," exclaimed the physician, in a low voice, "what brought you here?" The answer was inarticulate, but he saw it on the moving lips. "Want," said Mary. "But your husband?" He stooped to catch the husky answer. "Home."