unded man in the
machine, and he left him on our doorstep. When I got to the door the
car was going wildly toward the Front, with both lamps lighted. We did
not understand then, of course, and no one thought of following it. The
ambulance was found smashed by a shell the next morning, and at first we
thought that he had been in it. But there was no sign that he had been,
and that night one of the men from the trenches insisted that he had
climbed out of a firing trench where the soldier stood, and had gone
forward, bareheaded, toward the German lines.

"I am afraid it was the end. The men, however, who all loved him, do
not think so. It seems that he has done miracles again and again. I
understand that along the whole Belgian line they watch for him at night.
The other night a German on reconnoissance got very close to our wire,
and was greeted not by shots but by a wild hurrah. He was almost
paralyzed with surprise. They brought him here on the way back to the
prison camp, and he still looked dazed."

Sara Lee sat with her hands clenched. Mrs. Travers folded the letter
and put it back into its envelope.

"How long ago was that?" Sara Lee asked in a low tone. "Because, if he
was coming back at all--"

"Four months."

Suddenly Sara Lee stood up.

"I think I ought to tell you," she said with a dead-white face, "that I
am responsible. He cared for me; and I was in love with him too. Only
I didn't know it then. I let him bring me to England, because--I
suppose it was because I loved him. I didn't think then that it was
that. I was engaged to a man at home."

"Sit down," said Mr. Travers. "My dear child, nothing can be your fault."

"He came with me, and the Germans got through. He had had word, but--"

"Have you your salts?" Mr. Travers asked quietly of his wife.

"I'm not fainting. I'm only utterly wretched."

The Traverses looked at each other. They were English. They had taken
their own great loss quietly, because it was an individual grief and
must not be intruded on the sorrow of a nation. But they found this
white-faced girl infinitely appealing, a small and fragile figure, to
whose grief must be added, without any fault of hers, a bitter and
lasting remorse.

Sara Lee stood up and tried to smile.

"Please don't worry about me," she said. "I need something to do, that's
all. You see, I've been worrying for so long. If I can get to work and
try to make up I'll not be so hopeless. But I am not quite hope