Mercy crossed the room, and slowly raked together the last living
embers of the fire.

"The matron has friends in France," she answered, "who are
connected with the military hospitals. It was not difficult to
get me the place, under those circumstances. Society can find a
use for me here. My hand is as light, my words of comfort are as
welcome, among those suffering wretches" (she pointed to the room
in which the wounded men were lying) "as if I was the most
reputable woman breathing. And if a stray shot comes my way
before the war is over--well! Society will be rid of me on easy
terms."

She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fire--as if
she saw in it the wreck of her own life. Common humanity made it
an act of necessity to say something to her. Grace
considered--advanced a step toward her--stopped--and took refuge
in the most trivial of all the common phrases which one human
being can address to another.

"If there is anything I can do for you--" she began. The
sentence, halting there, was never finished. Miss Roseberry was
just merciful enough toward the lost woman who had rescued and
sheltered her to feel that it was needless to say more.

The nurse lifted her noble head and advanced slowly toward the
canvas screen to return to her duties. "Miss Roseberry might have
taken my hand!" she thought to herself, bitterly. No! Miss
Roseberry stood there at a distance, at a loss what to say next.