clammy grip upon her. Why, but for her, and the soldiers would have taken the hill road! They had turned already when she spoke! But for her, and a German shell might have found its mark! That realization acted like a steadying hand placed upon her shoulder. She had got to keep steady. Human lives depended upon it. It would mean the loss of valuable material to the cause of the peace of the world, if she didn't! She had got to prove that her name was not a paradox—not for her own satisfaction, not for the family's sake, but for the sake of the people whom she was placed there to warn. Steadfastness—six or seven hours of unflinching steadfastness—was what her task required. It was a quality which she had been brought up to believe was not a strong one with her. But, weak or strong, what of that? No time for introspection now! No time to split hairs as to her fitness or unfitness for her job. She alone stood between the refugees and possible catastrophe. She alone! "Why," it occurred to her with sudden unexpectedness, "I am indispensable! To a few defeated soldiers—to a few foot-weary refugees—I am indispensable!"
France had been a series of revelations to Constance. This night was the climax. This night, this 23rd of March, 1918, and she alone at a
