The psalm was ended: none of its petitions, however, appeared to have touched the heart of the sick man, though their effect was great upon the doctor, who, kneeling down, poured out his soul's grief in a deep, heartfelt prayer, begged hard and earnestly for mercy and pardon for his suffering brother, and implored that a ray of light might beam into his heart. Never before had such a prayer sounded in Hubert's ear, and yet, when the good man rose from his knees, the only sound that he heard was, "Doctor, I can sleep."
"Good night, then," was the answer; "I shall come early in the morning, and before then, if you require me; good night."
"Good night;" and there was a gentle pressure of the hand; then the doctor left the room.
"Is he gone?" said Hubert, faintly, a few minutes after. "Oh! why did he leave me?" and the poor sufferer's eyes turned towards the door.
The watcher that night was a woman: it was not often that a woman tended the sick soldiers in the hospital where Hubert now lay, but it was his lot to be so fortunate on this occasion; and she was sitting beside an open window, looking out upon the sun, which was sinking in the west, and throwing, as she was thinking, its rays upon her English home, when she heard Hubert speak, and, hastening to his side, in an instant she asked him kindly if he required anything. Perhaps his heart was too full, for he only turned his head away and sighed deeply.
"Captain," she said, as she bent over him, "does anything trouble you? Can I get you anything?" And as she gently smoothed back the hair upon his forehead, she thought she saw a tear roll down his sunburnt cheek. That tear was enough; the stern scenes she had witnessed during a long sojourn in India, had made her callous to many things, and left many a scar upon her heart; but she was woman still, and could not resist the power of that tear. She sat down upon the stool by the soldier's bed, chafed his hot hand in hers, cooled his brow again and again, and spoke soothingly and kindly to him; still he was silent, gave no answer to any of her kind inquiries, except by an occasional sigh.
"I know you are uneasy, Captain; tell me, oh, do tell me! I've asked you many things, and you have answered me nothing; do tell me what's the matter. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing."
"Yes, Captain, let me do something; shall I fetch Dr. Martin? What shall I do?"
"Will you read to me?"