efforts of all were lent to the successful end. Jane Cable, dogged
and tireless, came to be his nurse, now that the life thread still
held together. It is not the purpose of this narrative to dwell
upon the wretched, harrowing scenes and incidents of the wilderness
hospital. The misery of those who watched and waited for death;
the dread and suffering of those who gave this anxiety; the glow
of spiritual light which hovered above the forms of men who had
forgotten their God until now.

The first night passed. There were sleepless eyes to keep company
with the faint moans and the scent of chloroform. Over the figure
of Graydon Bansemer hung the eager, tense face of Jane Cable. Her
will and mind were raised against the hand of death; down in her
soul she was crying! "You shall not die!" and he was living, living
on in spite of death. The still, white face gave back no sign of
life; a faint pulse and an almost imperceptible respiration told
of the unbroken thread. Hoping against hope!

Dawn came, and night again, and still the almost breathless girl
urged her will against the inevitable. She had not slept, nor had
she eaten of the food they brought to her. Two persons, a soldier
and a girl, stood back and marvelled at her endurance and devotion;
the harassed surgeons, new in experience themselves, found time to
minister to the seeming dead man, their interest not only attracted
by his remarkable vitality but by the romance attached to his hope
of living.

That night he moved, and a low moan came from his lips. The Goddess
of Good Luck had turned her face from the rest of the world for a
brief instant to smile upon this isolated supplicant for favour.