'We did!' said both, each with the same young steady voice.
For the motor had turned aside to climb the hill into the semicircle. On all sides now were rows of low buildings--hospital huts--hospital marquees--stores--canteens. Close to the motor, as it came to a stand-still, the door of a great marquee stood open, and Bridget could see within, a lighted hospital ward, with rows of beds, men in scarlet bed-jackets, sitting or lying on them--flowers--nurses moving about. The scene was like some bright and delicate illumination on the dark.
'I shall have to take you a bit further on,' said the major to Bridget, as the two young nurses waved farewell. 'We've got a room in the hotel for you. And Dr. Howson will come for you in the morning. He thought that would be more satisfactory both for you and the patient than that you should go to the hospital to-night.'
Bridget acquiesced, with a strong sense of relief. And presently the camp and its lights were all left behind again, and the motor was rushing on, first through a dark town, and then through woods--pine woods--as far as the faint remaining light enabled her to see, till dim shapes of houses, and scattered lamps began again to appear, and the motor drew up.
'Well, you'll find a bed here, and some food,' said the major as he handed her out. 'Can't promise much. It's a funny little place, but they don't look after you badly.'
They entered one of the small seaside hotels of the cheaper sort which abound in French watering-places, where the walls of the tiny rooms seem to be made of brown paper, and everyone is living in their neighbour's pocket. But a pleasant young woman came forward to take Bridget's bag.
'Mademoiselle Cook--Cookson?' she said interrogatively. 'I have a letter for Mademoiselle. Du médecin,' she added, addressing the major.
'Ah?' That gentleman put down Bridget's bag in the little hall, and stood attentive. Bridget opened the letter--a very few words--and read it with an exclamation.
'DEAR MISS COOKSON,--I am awfully sorry not to meet you to-night, and at the hospital to-morrow. But I am sent for to Bailleul. My only brother has been terribly wounded--they think fatally--in a bombing attack last night. I am going up at once--there is no help for it. One of my colleagues, Dr. Vincent, will take you to the hospital and will tell me your opinion. In haste.--Yours sincerely,