The door of Ensign Sand’s apartment stood open with a purposeful air when Captain Filbert reached headquarters that evening; but in any case it is likely that she would have gone in.  Mrs. Sand walked the floor, carrying a baby, a pale sticky baby with blotches, which had inherited from its maternal parent a conspicuous lack of buttons.  Mrs. Sand’s room was also ornamented with texts, but they had apparently been selected at random, and they certainly hung that way.  The piety of the place seemed at the control of an older infant, who sat on the floor and played with his father’s regimental cap.  On the other side of the curtain Captain Sand audibly washed himself and brushed his hair.

“What kind of meetin’ did you have?” asked Mrs. Sand.  “There—­ there now; he shall have his bottle, so he shall!”

“A beautiful meeting.  Abraham Lincoln White, the Savannah negro, you know, came as a believer for the first time, and so did Miss Rozario from Whiteaway and Laidlaw’s.  We had such a happy time.”

“What sort of collection?”

Laura opened a knotted handkerchief and counted out some copper coins.

“Only seven annas three pice!  And you call that a good meeting!  I don’t believe you exhorted them to give!”

“Oh, I think I did!” Laura returned mechanically.

“Seven annas and three pice!  And you know what the Commissioner wrote out about our last quarter’s earnings!  What did you say?”

“I said—­I said the collection would now be taken up,” Laura faltered.

“Oh dear! oh dear!  Leopold, stop clawing me!  Couldn’t you think of anythin’ more tellin’ or more touchin’ than that?  Fever or no fever, it does not do for me to stay away from the regular meetin’s.  One thing is plain—­he wasn’t there!”

“Who?”

“Well, you’ve never told me his name, but I expect you’ve got your reasons.”  Mrs. Sand’s tone was not arch, but slightly resentful.  “I mean the gentleman that attends so regular and sits behind, under the window.  A society man, I should say, to look at him, though the officers of this Army are no respecters of persons, and I don’t suppose the Lord takes any notice of his clothes.”

“His name is Mr. Lindsay.  No, he wasn’t there.”

The girl’s tone was distant and cold.  The rebuke about the collection had gone home to a place raw with similar reproaches.

“I hope you haven’t been discouraging him?”

Captain Filbert looked at her superior officer with astonishment.

“I have entreated him to come to the meetings.  But he never attends a Believers’ Rally.  Why should he?”

“What’s his state of mind?  He came to see you, didn’t he, the other night?”

“Yes, he did.  I don’t think he’s altogether careless.”

“Ain’t he seeking?”

“He wouldn’t admit it, but he may not know himself.  The Lord has different ways of working.  What else should bring him, night after night?”