And whereas within hospital walls it is the rule, not the exception, for the patients to show touching bravery and endurance in their pain, such an exclamation from a nurse was a special tribute to Mrs. 13's heroism. It was partly because before both Sister and nurse there rose in that moment a picture of what that poor woman's life had been. A dressmaker for some second-rate theatre, she had spent her days with ten or twelve other women in a room without a window, with the gas burning, and only the fireplace for ventilation. "After tea, Sister, the women used to drop from their seats and faint away on the floor. We seemed not to mind after a bit, somehow."[1] That had been the spiritless summing-up of the description which had so stirred the hearts of her listeners. And now she lay dying of the terrible disease that still baffles medical science, and seems to have no cure--and her patience did not fail! Nurse Carden continued her report of the other cases, and then, before leaving, said anxiously: "You will be able to take your hours 'off duty' this afternoon, Sister? You know you did not last week." Sister Warwick smiled. This staff-nurse of hers was bold in her determination to take care of her. None of the others ventured, except, perhaps, Nurse Greg; but she was promoted now, a Sister like herself--on her own level, in fact. "You will, Sister," urged Margaret Carden again. "I know you are getting tired out." "Not quite that," answered Sister Warwick, amused and touched. "But I do want a taste of the outside world, and if I possibly can, I mean to go." With that the night nurse departed more contented, not hearing the sigh that followed the words, not knowing that it was want of confidence in her day staff-nurse--Nurse Hudson--that tied the Sister with so many anxious thoughts to her ward. Sister Warwick and Sister Cumberland, which was the new title Nurse Greg had lately assumed with the donning of her dark stuff dress, met on the staircase in their bonnets and cloaks before eight o'clock. As their custom was, they walked together to the shortened morning service in the old parish church near the hospital gates. They had both learnt that the few quiet moments they spent there were "well invested," and they never passed out again into the whirl of their busy lives without an earnest prayer, first "for the sick ... God's prisoners, laid in bonds by His own hands," and then for themselves, that they, "By prayer, and sympathy, and smile, The burden of the weary might beguile." How better could they step into the daily routine than thus equipped? Breakfast in their own rooms was followed by hours of occupation. Sister Warwick preferred to take her share of actual nursing with the rest. Before the house-physician's visit was over a piteous wail from bed No. 12 rang through the ward. "It do hurt so! I can't bear it--I can't!"