come a ruthless
machine that drives everything before it in its advance, and in its wake
leaves a country stripped of life--all the people and cottages rubbed
off the face of the earth.

People here in Kiev feel the same terror of the German advance. Can
nothing stop it? A panic has swept over the city that makes every one
want to run away and hide. They crowd the square before the railway
station and camp there for days, waiting to secure a place on the trains
that leave for Petrograd or Odessa. For three weeks Peter has been
waiting for his reservation to get to Petrograd. Our case drags on so.
He wants to see the Ambassador personally. But the trains are packed
with terrified people. Men leave their affairs and go down to the square
with their families and baggage. They sleep on the cobble-stones,
wrapped up in blankets, their heads on their bags. It is autumn, and the
nights are cold and rainy, and the children cry in discomfort. I have
seen the square packed with motionless, sleeping people, and in the
morning I have seen them fight for places in the train, transformed by
this unbearable terror of the Germans into beasts that trample each
other to death. And when the train goes off, they settle back, waiting
for their next chance. Perhaps some are so much nearer the station, but
others are carried away wounded or dead. Who knows what they are capable
of till they are so afraid?

My dressmaker's sister was a cripple. Fear had crept even into her
sick-room. When Olga came to try on my dress, she fumbled and pinned
things all wrong in her haste. I spoke to her sharply and asked her to
be more careful. Then she burst into tears and told me about her sister.
It appeared her sister was afraid to be left alone. Every time Olga left
the room, her sister caught at her dress and made her promise not to
desert her. She thought of the Germans day and night. She cursed Olga if
she should ever run away and leave her to them. A few days later, Olga
came again. She was so pale and thin it frightened me, and she didn't
hurry nervously any more when she fitted me.

"What is it, Olga? You are sick," I said.

"My sister is dead. Last Saturday, it was late when I left you, and I
stopped on the way home to get some herring for supper. I was later than
usual, and when I got home I found my sister dead. She had died from
fear. She thought I had deserted her. She had half fallen out of her
chair as though she had tried to move. How cou