she pushed past the others, so that she could stroke the dying girl's forehead. "Sister Edith, don't worry yourself about them any more," she went on, and stroked her once again. "Sister Edith, you have done enough for them."
These words seemed to have power to release the sick girl from the vision that obsessed her; her features lost their look of tension, of majestic wrath. The gentle and suffering expression, which was her usual one since her illness, returned.
She opened her eyes, and, on seeing her companion bending over her, she laid her hand on the latter's arm, and tried to draw, her down to her.
The Sister could hardly guess the meaning of this gentle touch, but she understood the imploring look in the eyes, and bent down to the sick girl's lips.
"David Holm!" whispered the dying girl.
The Sister shook, her head, doubting if she had heard accurately.
The sick girl tried her hardest to make her meaning clear. She uttered the words with a pause between each syllable.
"Send—for—Da—vid—Holm."
She gazed into the Sister's eyes until she was certain that her friend had caught her meaning. This done, she lay down again to rest, and a couple of minutes afterwards she was off again, occupied just as before, mentally present at some hideous scene which filled her soul with wrath and anguish.
The Sister rose from her stooping position. She had ceased weeping, and was seized by a strong emotion that had driven away her tears.
"She wants us to send for David Holm!"
It seemed to be something quite awful that the patient longed for—the big, coarse Salvationist Captain was as much agitated as her companion.
"David Holm!" she repeated. "That's hardly possible, I suppose; nobody would allow David Holm to approach anyone who was dying."
The girl's mother had sat down and seen how her daughter's countenance was working up to that judicial expression of indignation. She now turned to the two embarrassed women for an explanation.
"Sister Edith wants us to send for David Holm," explained the Salvationist Captain, "but we don't know if that is fit and proper."
"David Holm? " asked the girl's mother doubtfully. "Who is he? "
"He is one of those with whom Sister Edith has had a lot of trouble in the slums, but the Lord has not vouchsafed to her to gain any influence over him."
"Perhaps it is God's purpose, Captain," said the Sister hesitatingly, "to work upon him in these her last moments."
The girl's mother looked at her indignantly. " You have had the upper hand with my daughter, you know, as long as she had a spark of-life left. Let me have her to myself now that she is on the point of death."
That settled the matter. The Sister resumed her place at the foot of the bed; the Salvationist sat down on the little chair, shut her eyes, and was quickly absorbed in low murmured prayer. The ' others caught a word or two—she was beseeching God that the young Sister's soul should be suffered to depart in peace from this life, without being troubled and disturbed any more by the duties and cares which belong to this world of trials and tribulations.
Whilst absorbed in prayer she was aroused by the Sister laying a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes suddenly.
The sick girl had recovered consciousness once more, but she was not looking so meek and humble as on the last occasion ; something of that threatening storm-cloud still lingered upon her brow.
The Sister stooped over her, and heard clearly enough the reproachful. question:
"Sister Mary, have you sent for David Holm?"
It was likely enough that the others would be prepared to make excuses, but something the woman read in the poor girl's eyes silenced her. "I will fetch him to you, Sister Edith," she promised, and turned apologetically to the mother. " I have never said no to anything Sister Edith has asked me. How can I do so to-day ?"
The girl shut her eyes with a sigh-of relief, and the Sister quitted the little room. "Then all was hushed again. The dying girl's chest laboured more painfully, and. her mother drew nearer to the bed, as though anxious to shield her daughter from death.
A few seconds afterwards the girl looked up. She had the same impatient expression as before, but when she saw that "her companion's seat was empty, she realised that her wish was about to be gratified, and her face assumed a gentler expression. She made no attempt to speak, but, oh the other hand, she did not sink into a coma, but kept awake. An outer door opened, and she sat up in bed. Directly afterwards the Sister looked in at the bedroom door, which she opened as narrowly as possible.
"I dare not come in," she said, " I'm too cold. Captain Andersson, be kind enough to come here for a moment." She noticed at once how expectantly the sick girl's eyes were fixed on her. " I've not been able to find him, yet, Edith," she added, " but I met Gustavsson and two others of ours, and they promised me to have him found. Sister Edith, Gustavsson will be sure to bring him to you if it is at all possible."
She had hardly finished speaking before the dying girl shut her eyes and relapsed into that mood of inward contemplation which had obsessed her all that day.
"She sees him right enough," remarked the Sister. Her voice had in it a ring of indignation, but she corrected herself immediately. "Alleluia ! it's no misfortune that God's will should be done."
She quietly retired into the outer room, followed by the Salvationist Captain.
There stood a woman who could hardly have been more than thirty years old, but who had so grey and almost savagely lined a complexion, such scanty hair and so shrunken a figure, that many an old woman was not so ill-favoured in these respects. Moreover, she was so miserably clad that you might have fancied that she had put on some particularly wretched rags for the purpose of going out begging.
The Salvationist glanced at this woman with a feeling of fast rising anguish. It was not her sorry clothes or her premature old age that was the worst point about her, but the steely rigidity of her features. It was a human being which moved and walked or stood, but who seemed absolutely ignorant as to where she was. She had apparently suffered so dreadfully that her soul had reached a crisis; she might the next moment go raving mad.
"This," explained the Sister, " is David Holm's wife. I found her like this when I reached her house to fetch the man here. He had gone out, and she was pacing there all alone, unable to answer a word to my questions. I dared not leave her' by herself, so I brought her with me here."
"Is this David Holm's wife? exclaimed the Salvationist Captain. "I have certainly seen her before, though I can't identify her. What can have happened to her?"
"It's clear enough what has occurred," replied the Sister sharply, as if seized by an impatient rage; "it's her husband who'is torturing the life out of her."
The Salvationist scrutinised the woman again and again. Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets and their pupils were staring fixedly before her; two of her fingers were incessantly writhing about each other, and time after time a slight shiver ran over her lips.
"What has he done to her?" she wondered.
"I don't know. She could not answer my questions, but sat shivering like this when I came. The children were out, and there was no one to ask. O Lord God, that this should happen on this very day. How can I manage to look after her now, when I want to think of nobody but Sister Edith ? "
"The fellow has been beating her, I suppose."
There must have been something far worse. I've seen plenty of women who have been beaten, but they were, never like this. No, it has been something a great deal worse," the Sister exclaimed, with increasing horror. " We saw, you know, from Sister Edith's face that something terrible had happened."
"Yes," cried the Salvationist Captain ; " now we can understand. what it was that worried her. Thank and praise God that Sister Edith did see, so that you reached there in time, Sister Mary. Thank the Lord and praise