ring out at the unchanged, dream-like beauty of moonlit Four Winds.
Feeling was coming back to her--a pang of agony so acute as to be
almost physical seemed to rend her apart.

"I cannot bear it," she said. And then came the awful thought that
perhaps she could bear it and that there might be years of this hideous
suffering before her.

She must get away--she must rush home--she must be alone. She could not
go out there and play for drills and give readings and take part in
dialogues now. It would spoil half the concert; but that did not
matter--nothing mattered. Was this she, Rilla Blythe--this tortured
thing, who had been quite happy a few minutes ago? Outside, a quartette
was singing "We'll never let the old flag fall"--the music seemed to be
coming from some remote distance. Why couldn't she cry, as she had
cried when Jem told them he must go? If she could cry perhaps this
horrible something that seemed to have seized on her very life might
let go. But no tears came! Where were her scarf and coat? She must get
away and hide herself like an animal hurt to the death.

Was it a coward's part to run away like this? The question came to her
suddenly as if someone else had asked it. She thought of the shambles
of the Flanders front--she thought of her brother and her playmate
helping to hold those fire-swept trenches. What would they think of her
if she shirked her little duty here--the humble duty of carrying the
programme through for her Red Cross? But she couldn't stay--she
couldn't--yet what was it mother had said when Jem went: "When our
women fail in courage shall our men be fearless still?" But this--this
was unbearable.

Still, she stopped half-way to the door and went back to the window.
Irene was singing now; her beautiful voice--the only real thing about
her--soared clear and sweet through the building. Rilla knew that the
girls' Fairy Drill came next. Could she go out there and play for it?
Her head was aching now--her throat was burning. Oh, why had Irene told
her just then, when telling could do no good? Irene had been very
cruel. Rilla remembered now that more than once that day she had caught
her mother looking at her with an odd expression. She had been too busy
to wonder what it meant. She understood now. Mother had known why
Walter went to town but wouldn't tell her until the concert was over.
What spirit and endurance mother had!

"I must stay here and see things through," said Rilla, clasping her