se, and it's down now to a matter of minutes. It means the best
team-work we've done yet to save just your man."

Still the girl made no move. Her eyes were turned away. In her ears was
ringing the chorus of the mothers, those waiting for Louis or Jacques or
Lucien to come home. Dear God, what was she to do?

The chief pulled her sleeve. "Wake up, girl. There's a chance for your
man, I tell you, only in Heaven's name don't waste it! Come."

She tried to take her eyes away from the boy, tried to shut her ears to
the cry that was ringing in them. She wanted to look at Peter and say the
word that would start the bearers carrying him to that little zone of
light about the altar where they had saved so many during those days. But
her eyes clung, in spite of her, to the white boy-face and the faded blue
uniform below it. Peter had no mother, no one but herself to face the
grief and mourn the loss of him, and the hearts of French mothers had been
drained--bled almost to the last drop? Wouldn't Peter say to save that
drop? Had she the right to shed it and spare her own heart's bleeding? The
questions filtered through her mind with the inevitableness of sands in an
hour-glass. With a cry of agony she wrenched her eyes away at last and
faced the chief.

"We'll let Peter--wait. We'll take the boy--first."

Dumfounded, the chief stared for the fraction of a moment; then he shook
her. "For God's sake, wake up, Leerie! You've gone through so much, your
thinking isn't just clear. Get rational, girl. You'd be deliberately
killing your man, to leave him now. You don't realize his condition, or
you wouldn't be wasting time this way. By the time we finish with the
first there'll be no chance for the second; they're both bleeding in a
dozen places. Here, boys! Help me over with Mr. Brooks."

But Sheila put out a quick hand and held them back. "And if I put Peter
first I shall be deliberately killing the other. Don't you see? I can't do
it--Peter wouldn't wish it--it would mean--Boys, carry over the other. The
chief's going to save a lad for France."

There was no denying her. She stood guard over Peter's stretcher until the
other had been lifted and carried away. Grimly the surgeon followed, and
Sheila turned to the two who were still holding the stretcher.

"Would you mind putting him down there? Now, will you leave us just a
minute?" She spoke to the American, but the German must have understood,
for he led the way to the church d