“Oh, about eight days.” The soldier moved uneasily, and the nurse in him became uppermost. “I guess the Lieutenant hadn’t better talk any more,” he said. It was his voice now which held authority. The Lieutenant looked out at the palms and the silent gloomy mountains and the empty coastline, where the same wave was rising and falling with weary persistence. “Eight days,” he said. His eyes shut quickly, as though with a sudden touch of pain. He turned his head and sought for the figure at the foot of the cot. Already the figure had grown faint and was receding and swaying. “Has anyone written or cabled?” the Lieutenant spoke, hurriedly. He was fearful lest the figure should disappear altogether before he could obtain his answer. “Has anyone come?” “Why, they couldn’t get here, Lieutenant, not yet.” The voice came very faintly. “You go to sleep now, and I’ll run and fetch some letters and telegrams. When you wake up, maybe I’ll have a lot for you.” But the Lieutenant caught the nurse by the wrist, and crushed his hand in his own thin fingers. They were hot, and left the steward’s skin wet with perspiration. The Lieutenant laughed gayly. “You see, Doctor,” he said, briskly, “that you can’t kill me. I can’t die. I’ve got to live, you understand. Because, sir, she said she would come. She said if I was wounded, or if I was ill, she would come to me. She didn’t care what people thought. She would come anyway and nurse me—well, she will come.” “So, Doctor—old man—” He plucked at the steward’s sleeve, and stroked his hand eagerly, “old man—” he began again, beseechingly, “you’ll not let me die until she comes, will you? What? No, I know I won’t die. Nothing made by man can kill me. No, not until she comes. Then, after that—eight days, she’ll be here soon, any moment? What? You think so, too? Don’t you? Surely, yes, any moment. Yes, I’ll go to sleep now, and when you see her rowing out from shore you wake me. You’ll know her; you can’t make a mistake. She is like—no, there is no one like her—but you can’t make a mistake.” That day strange figures began to mount the sides of the ship, and to occupy its every turn and angle of space. Some of them fell on their knees and slapped the bare deck with their hands, and laughed and cried out, “Thank God, I’ll see God’s country again!” Some of them were regulars, bound in bandages; some were volunteers, dirty and hollow-eyed, with long beards on boys’ faces. Some came on crutches; others with their arms around the shoulders of their comrades, staring ahead of them with a fixed smile, their lips drawn back and their teeth protruding. At every second step they stumbled, and the face of each was swept by swift ripples of pain.