"Have you got any children?" was Helen's next question, her mind becoming unpleasantly familiar with actual facts.
"Yes indeed, marm! I've three living—please God—they are pretty big now. I used to leave them when they were little sometimes, an' it was killing work, I tell you. But now they're big, an' placed; an' its different when they can take care of theirselves."
By this time Mrs. Hardman had returned. She was younger than the other two, and although married for several years, perhaps fortunately for a soldier's wife, she had no children.
"She's very low, marm," was her first expression.
"Has the chaplain been to see her?" Helen asked.
"Yes, marm, 'ee was here this afternoon, and said 'ee'd come again in the mornin'."
"She won't be living then," said the Corporal, wringing his hands. "Oh, my Betsy, my bonny wife! What'll I do without ye?"
Her eyes slowly opened and rested upon her husband who was kneeling beside her. Gradually a rational look came into her face. A faint smile lit up her features as he clasped her hand.
"God—bless—you," she whispered.
"Come, Helen," said Harold, gently drawing his wife away. "I will have the chaplain sent at once if you like, but I don't see what he can do now."