'The wounds have never healed--and they drain his life away. The heart can't last out much longer. But he's not in pain now--thank God! It's just weakness. I assure you, everybody--almost--in this huge camp, asks for him and many--pray for him.' The Sister's eyes filled with tears. 'And now that the poor wife's come in time, there'll be an excitement! I heard two men in one of our wards discussing it this morning. "They do say as Mrs. Sarratt will be here to-day," said one of them. "Well, that's a bit of all right, ain't it?" said the other, and they both smoked away, looking as pleased as Punch. You see Miss Cookson's behaviour has made the whole thing so extraordinary.' Cicely agreed. 'I suppose she thought it would be all over in a day or two,' she said, half-absently. The Sister looked puzzled. 'And that it would be better not to risk the effect on his wife? Of course Mrs. Sarratt does look dreadfully delicate. So you _don't_ think it was a mistake? It's very difficult to see how it could be! The hands alone--one would think that anybody who really knew him must have recognised them.' Cicely said no more. But she wondered how poor Nelly and her sister would ever find it possible to meet again. Meanwhile, in the car ahead, Howson was gently and tenderly preparing the mind of Nelly for her husband's state. He described to her also, the first signs of Sarratt's returning consciousness--the excitement among his doctors and nurses--the anxious waiting for the first words--the first clear evidence of restored hearing. And then, at last, the dazed question--'Where am I?'--and the perplexed effort to answer Howson's--'Can you tell us your name and regiment?' Howson described the breathless waiting of himself and another doctor, and then the slow coming of the words: 'My name is George Sarratt, Lieutenant, 21st Lanchesters. But why----?' A look of bewilderment at nurses and doctors, and then again--sleep. 'The next time he spoke, it was quite distinctly and of his own accord. The nurse heard him saying softly--it was in the early morning--"I want my wife--send for her." She told him you had been already sent for, and he turned his head round at once and went to sleep.' Howson could hardly go on, so keenly did he realise the presence of the woman beside him. The soft fluttering breath unmanned him. But by degrees Nelly heard all there was to know; especially the details of the rapid revival of hearing, speech, and memory, which had gone on through the preceding three days. 'And what is such a blessing,' said Howson, with the cheerfulness of the good doctor--'is that he seems to be quite peaceful--quite at rest. He's not unhappy. He's just waiting for you. They'll have given him an injection of strychnine this evening to help him through.' 'How long?' The words were just breathed into the darkness. 'A day or two certainly--perhaps a week,' he said reluctantly. 'It's a question of strength. Sometimes it lasts much longer than we expect.'