Spite of all our attempts to keep bright, an atmosphere of depression was gradually creeping over the ward. The sudden change in Bed 14 was responsible for it all. Do’-no-who lay there perfectly helpless, his painful breathing sounding more like the regular sawing of a piece of wood than anything else. In the afternoon there was little change, except that his pulse at last showed signs of weakening, the light had gone out of his eyes, and he was unable to swallow anything. By this time some of the patients were beginning to get along well: so much easier was their breathing they were able to sleep in comparative comfort. Others, however, were wakeful. They only wished to lie quiet. Some indeed tried to look at picture papers, but you could tell by the quick anxious glances they gave towards Bed 14 from time to time that their thoughts were centred entirely on one person. As the hours progressed we found that Do’-no-who’s strength was gradually waning. His pulse was faint and fluttering, he had fallen into a heavy drowsy state, and his breathing came in short light puffs. Yet all the time, strange to say, he would insist on keeping that great strong arm of his right up at the back of his head which lay so still on the pillow. He remained like that for hours, whilst the breathing gradually slowed, faltered and went on again, till it was almost inaudible and the fluttering pulse could scarcely be felt. Then—quite suddenly—as he slept the tired head fell over and the big hand relaxed. He had stepped over the border without a struggle. We placed his hand gently beside him, and took the rosary from the other one and hung it round his neck. ‘The strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained And the barriers fall. ... Sudden the worst turns the best to the brave The black minute’s at end.’ BROWNING. Before very long some orderlies came and fetched Do’-no-who. It was touching to see the patients—all who could—standing at attention as the stretcher came down the ward and was carried out through the door. Even those in bed managed to raise a weak hand to their forehead as the big frame of Donohue wrapped in a Union Jack passed along. One, Murphy, a quiet little Irishman with ferrety eyes who occupied the adjoining bed, had scarcely spoken all the time. We were not surprised, for he too had suffered badly from the gas, but judging by the way he kept his eyes rivetted on Do’-no-who we felt he took more than ordinary interest in his case. Now, as the sad little procession disappeared, Murphy turned right over on his pillow and quietly covered his face with his sheet. When a little later we told him we had put his supper near him, he left it untouched, and silently declined to emerge from his retreat. That night when most of the others had gone to sleep, Murphy was seen to uncover his face, and as the night Sister passed down the ward he signalled to her.