't see Mrs. Torrence, or Janet McNeil or
Mr. Riley or Dr. Haynes. They are overpowered by this tragedy of being
left behind. Under it the discipline of the ---- Hospital breaks down.
The eighteen-year-old child is threatening to commit suicide or else go
home. She regards the two acts as equivalent. Mr. Riley's gloom is now
so awful that he will not speak when he is spoken to. He looks at me
with dumb hostility, as if he thought that I had something to do with
it. Dr. Haynes's melancholy is even more heart-rending, because it is
gentle and unexpressed.

I try to console them. I point out that it is a question of arithmetic.
There are only two cars and there are fourteen of us. Fourteen into two
won't go, even if you don't count the wounded. And, after all, we
haven't been here two days. But it is no good. We have been here a
hundred years, and we have done nothing. There isn't anything to do.
There are not enough wounded to go round. We turn our eyes with longing
towards Antwerp, so soon to be battered by the siege-guns from Namur.

And Bert, poor Bert! he has crawled into Ambulance Car No. 2 where it
stands outside in the hospital yard, and he has hidden himself under the
hood.

Mrs. Lambert is a little sad, too. But we are none of us very sorry for
Mrs. Lambert. We have gathered that her husband is a journalist, and
that he is special correspondent at the front for some American paper.
He has a motor-car which we assume rashly to be the property of his
paper. He is always dashing off to the firing-line in it, and Mrs.
Lambert is always at liberty to go with him. She is mistaken if she
thinks that her sorrow is in any way comparable with ours.

But if there are not enough wounded to go round in Ghent, there are
more refugees than Ghent can deal with. They are pouring in by all the
roads from Alost and Termonde. Every train disgorges multitudes of them
into the _Place_.

This morning I went to the Matron, Madame F., and told her I wasn't much
good, but I'd be glad if she could give me some work. I said I supposed
there was some to be done among the refugees.

Work? Among the refugees? They could employ whole armies of us. There
are thousands of refugees at the Palais des Fetes. I had better go there
and see what is being done. Madame will give me an introduction to her
sister-in-law, Madame F., the Presidente of the Comite des Dames, and to
her niece, Mademoiselle F., who will take me to the Palais.

And Madame