end in the twilight of the gods?” he rejoined with a hopeless kind of smile.

they
turned to the outer door of the hospital and stepped into the
night. for a moment they stood looking at the great camp far away to right and
left, and to the lone mountains yonder, where the boer commandoes held
the passes and trained their merciless armament upon all approaches. Then he said
at last: “why have come here? You had your work in england.” “what is
my word?” she asked. “to heal the wounded,” he answered. “ i am trying to do that,”
she replied. “ you are trying to heal bodies, but it is a
bigger, greater thing to heal the wounded mind.” “i am trying to do that too. It is
harder than the other.” “whose minds are you trying to heal?”
he questioned gently. “physician heal thyself was the old command, wasn t it? but
that is harder still.” “must one always be a saint to do a
saintly thing?” he asked. “i am not clever,” she replied, “ and i can t make
phraises. But must one always be a sinner to do a wicked thing?
can t a saint do a wicked thing, and a sinner to do a good thing without being
called the one or the other?” “i don t think you
need apologize for not being able to make phrases. I ssuppose you d say there is
neither absolute saintliness nor absolute wickedness, but that life is helplessly
composite
of both, and that black really may not be white. You know the old phrasa, killing
no murder. “she seemed to stiffen, and lips set tightly for
a minuite: then, as though by a great effort, she laughed bitterly. “murder isn t
always killing,” she replied. “don t you remember the protest in macbeth, time
was, when the brains are out the man would die ?” then, with a little quick
guesture towards the camp, she added, “when you think of to-day, doesn
t it seem that the brains are out, and yet that the man still lives? I am not a
soldier, anf this awful slaughter may be the most
wonderful tactics, but it s all beyond my little mind.” “your littlenessis not
original enough to attract notice,” he replied with kindly irony. “there is almost
an
epidemic of it. Let us hope we shall have an antidote soon.” there was a sudden cry
from inside the hospital. Al mah shut her eyesfor a
moment, clinched her fingers, and became very pale: then she recovered herself, and
turned her face towards the door, as through waitind for some one to come out.
“what is the matter?” he asked. “some bad case?” “yes – very bad,” she replied.
“one you ve been attending?” “yes.” “what arm – the artillery?” he asked
with sudden intrest, “yes, the artillery.” he turned towards the door of the
hospital again. “one of my men? What battery? Do you know?” “not yours – schiller
s.” “schiller s! A boer?” she nodded. “a boer spy, caught by boer bullets as he was
going back.” “when was that?” “this morning early.” “the little business
at wortmann s drift?” she nodded. “yes, there.” “i don t quite understand. Was he
in our lines – a boer spy?” “yes. But he wore british uniform,
he spoke english. “hewas an englishman once.” suddenly she came up close to him,
and looked into his face steadily. “i will tell you all,” she said
scarce above a whisper. “ he came to spy, but he camealso to see his wife. She had
written to ask him not to join boers, as
he said he meant to do: or , if he had, to leave them and join his own people. he
came,but not to join is fellow-countrymen. he came
to get money from from his wife: and he came to spy.” an illuminating thought shot
into stafford s mind. He remembered something that byng once told him, “his
wife is a nurse?” he asked in a low tone. “she is a nurse.” “she knew, then, that
he was a spy?” he asked. “yes, she knew. i
suppose she ought to betried by court-martial. She did not expose him. She gave him
a chance to escape. But he was shot as he tried to
reach the boer lines.” “and was brought back here to his wife – to you! Did he let
them” – he nodded towards the hospital -- “ know he
was your husband?” when she spoke again her voice showed strain, but it did not
tremble. “of course. He would not spare me. He never did. It was
always like that.” he caught her hand in his. “you have courage enough for a
hundred,” he said. “i have suffered enough for a hundred,” she responded. again
that sharp cry rang out, and again she turned anxiously towards the door. “i came
to south africa on the chance of helping him in some way,” she
replied. “it came to me that he might need me.” “you paid the price of his life
once to kruger – after the raid, i ve heard,”