At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 56: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: 7 ‘ . a), AT A GIRL’S MERCY. 4B for the surgeons and nurses to do something, any- thing for him, so long as he could get well—he could bear any agony, he said, any operation, no matter what it might be, if they would only save him, for he must live to care for his mother—he was all she had. And, oh, Nan, they could do nothing but make his death as easy as possible. And Ned said there were strong men there bearing their own suffering without a murmur, who cried like babies when the poor boy died. When I think of all these things, how can I bear it, Nan? But I must go. I must do what I can, if it is only a little. Even if I may but give acup of water to a dying soldier, or lift his head, or do some little thing, it will be doing some- thing, and I cannot bear inaction when I know what ought to be done, and [ have nothing to hinder me. Hilda is home with mother, and as she is quite grown now—sixteen, you know—she can easily take my place. Of course I couldn’t go but for that.’’ Nan’s lips were set, and her eyes purple with the intensity of her thought. She scarcely heard Helen’s last words. She was with her brothers on the battle- field. Suppose at that moment Frank or Charlie were dying, or dead, or wounded fearfully, as Helen said. Suppose there were no friendly hands near, no woman’s tender voice and face to help him bear his pain; no woman’s touch on his hair. Why was it that it was always Frank’s fair head and boyish face that faced her in the thoughts of the dead and wounded in the field—no woman’s hand holding the cup of water to-his lips, or closing the sightless eyes that had always held a smile in them for her? Her hand was like ice to the touch of her friend, and Helen suddenly leaned forward, lifting her white face in her hands, Gomicbooks (e(o) m