"It's Sue! It's Sue herself father! God has led us to her—and it's Sue her very own self!"
Poor Connie, who had borne up during so many adventures, who had faced the worst steadfastly and without fear, broke down utterly now. She flung herself into her father's arms and sobbed.
"Hush, wench hush!" said the rough man. "I am willin' to do hall that is necessary.—Now then, nurse," he continued, "you see my gel—she's rather upset 'bout that pore Cinderella upstairs. But 'ave yer nothing else to say 'bout her?"
"She acts in a strange way," said the nurse. "The only thing that comforts her is the sound of Big Ben when he strikes the hour. And she did speak about a little cripple brother."
"Can us see her?" asked Connie just then.
"It is certainly against the rules, but—will you stay here for a few minutes and I'll speak to the ward superintendent?"
The nurse went upstairs. She soon returned.
"Sister Elizabeth has given you permission to come up and see the child for a few minutes. This, remember, is absolutely against the ordinary rules; but her case is exceptional, and if you can give her relief of mind, so much the better."
Then Connie and her father followed the nurse up the wide, clean stairs, and down the wide, spotless-looking corridors, until they softly entered a room where many children were lying, some asleep, some tossing from side to side with pain.
Sue's little bed was the fifth from the door, and Sue was lying on her back, listening intently, for Big Ben would soon proclaim the hour. She did not turn her head when the nurse and the two who were seeking her entered the ward; but by-and-by a voice, not Big Ben's, sounded on her ear, and Connie flung herself by her side and covered her hand with kisses.