one of the very poorest of the "common" soldiers; and there is a look in
his face which speaks the word death with a shudder in the girl's heart.
A gleam lightens the agony in the man's eyes as he sees the white form
and gentle face above him. He gazes steadily a moment, as though to make
sure his vision is not a passing illusion; then Hazel catches the words,
"Were you sent to me?"

Very quietly she tells him in whose name she comes. Then, with a long,
struggling sigh of satisfaction, without a shadow of further questioning
in the dying eyes or voice, he whispers--"Hope even for me in Him, then,
since He sent you!"

So the low, flickering flame of life, set free, leaps up to its source;
and the forsaken home rests in unbroken peace.

Saddened, and yet peaceful, too, Hazel turns slowly away from the
battle-field, and walks on, not noticing whither she goes. Jarring
sounds recall her, and she finds herself in a narrow valley, surrounded
by noisy children and brawling women. No one seems conscious of her
presence. A lot of men are lounging against the wall of a public-house.
The low building is conspicuous by its being in good repair, while its
neighbours are all in a shattered condition. The window-frames are
painted and varnished, and the open entrance discloses a smart interior.
A few doors beyond this the houses reach the climax of desolate
disorder. The whole place is tumbling down; the window is broken; the
battered door is off its hinges, propped up against the wall. A cripple
girl is sitting on a broken box, turned upside down, immediately outside
this miserable hovel. Her face is a greater shock to Hazel than any of
the other wretchedness around. There is a desperation of bitterness in
that set, white face, with its hollow eyes and cheeks, which is