It was after midnight. A thunder storm suddenly rolled its dense clouds over the city and smothered the street lamps in a pall of darkness. The rain burst with a flash of lightning and poured in torrents. The electric display was awe-inspiring. The horses in one of the ambulances in the long line stampeded and smashed the vehicle in front. The procession was stopped in the height of the storm. The vivid flame was now continuous and Betty could see the wagons standing in a mud-splashed row for a mile, the lightning play bringing out in startling outline each horse and vehicle. From every ambulance was hanging a fringe of curious objects shining white against the shadows when suddenly illumined. Betty looked in pity and awe. They were the burning fevered arms and legs and heads of the suffering wounded men eager to feel the splash of the cooling rain. A full week passed before her search ended and she located him in one of the big new buildings hastily constructed of boards. With trembling step she started to go straight to his cot. The memory of his brutal stare that day stopped her and she scribbled a line and sent it to him: "John, dear, may I see you a moment? "BETTY." The doctor assured her that he was rapidly recovering, though restless and depressed. She caught her breath in a little gasp of surprise at the sight of his white face, pale and spiritual looking now from the loss of blood. Her eyes were shining with intense excitement as she swiftly crossed the room, dropped on her knees beside his cot and seized his hands: "O John, John, can you ever forgive me!" He slipped his arm around her neck and held her a long time in silence. The men in the room paid no attention to the little drama. It was happening every day around them. "Oh, dearest," she went on eagerly, "I tried to put you out of my heart, but I couldn't. I am yours, all yours, body and soul. Love asks but one question--do you love me?" "Forever!" he whispered. "In my loneliness and despair I tried to give myself to Ned, but I couldn't, dear. I would have told him so had I been able to reach him--though I dreaded to hurt him." John drew her hands down and looked at her with a strange expression. "He's beyond the reach of pain and disappointment now, dear----" "Dead?" she gasped. The man only nodded, and clung desperately to her hands while her head sank in a flood of tears. "We'll cherish his memory," he said in a curiously quiet voice, "as one of the sweetest bonds between us, my love----" "Yes--always!" was the low answer. For the life of him John Vaughan couldn't tell the terrible fact that his hand had struck him down. God alone should know that. When she had recovered from the shock of the announcement Betty caressed his hand gently: "We just love whom we love, dearest, and we can't help it. I am yours and you are mine. It's not a question of good or bad, right or wrong. We love--that's all."