wood. She had been crying and made no attempt to subdue her emotions
when the American girl came up to her; instead, she bitterly poured
out her woe into the ears of the other. She told her of Bray's
insult--as she termed his unfortunate speculation--and she told
how it came about.

"I am a good girl, Miss Cable," she cried. "I am of a noble family-not
of the canaille. You do not believe it of me? No! He had no right
to accuse me. I was a prisoner; Senor Bansemer was my rescuer. I
loved him for it. See, I cannot help it, I cannot hide it from you.
But he is yours. I have no claim. I do not ask it. Oh!" and here
her voice rose to a wail of anguish, "can you not procure something
else for me to wear? These rags are intolerable. I hate them! I
cannot go back there unless I have---"

"We can give you a few garments, dear," said Jane. "Come! You shall
wear the nurse's uniform. We are to start on the long march to the
coast to-morrow. They say that ALL of the wounded can be moved by
that time."

It was three days, however, before the little company left the
village and began its slow, irksome march across the country toward
the coast where the ship was to pick up the wounded men and convey
them to Manila, Native carriers, cheerful amigos since the disaster
to Pilar, went forward with the stretchers, the hospitall wagons
and guard following. Travelling was necessarily slow and the halts
were frequent. There were occasional shots from hidden riflemen,
but there were no casualties. Food had been scarce; the commissary
was thinly supplied for the hard trip. Lieutenant Bray grew strangely
morose and indifferent. He was taciturn, almost unfriendly in his