ght as well stay home, too, for all the good church will
do me today," Miss Oliver said to Rilla, as they walked down the
hard-frozen red road to the church. "I can think of nothing but the
question, 'Does the line still hold?'"

"Next Sunday will be Easter," said Rilla. "Will it herald death or life
to our cause?"

Mr. Meredith preached that morning from the text, "He that endureth to
the end shall be saved," and hope and confidence rang through his
inspiring sentences. Rilla, looking up at the memorial tablet on the
wall above their pew, "sacred to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe,"
felt herself lifted out of her dread and filled anew with courage.
Walter could not have laid down his life for naught. His had been the
gift of prophetic vision and he had foreseen victory. She would cling
to that belief--the line would hold.

In this renewed mood she walked home from church almost gaily. The
others, too, were hopeful, and all went smiling into Ingleside. There
was no one in the living-room, save Jims, who had fallen asleep on the
sofa, and Doc, who sat "hushed in grim repose" on the hearth-rug,
looking very Hydeish indeed. No one was in the dining-room either--and,
stranger still, no dinner was on the table, which was not even set.
Where was Susan?

"Can she have taken ill?" exclaimed Mrs. Blythe anxiously. "I thought
it strange that she did not want to go to church this morning."

The kitchen door opened and Susan appeared on the threshold with such a
ghastly face that Mrs. Blythe cried out in sudden panic.

"Susan, what is it?"

"The British line is broken and the German shells are falling on
Paris," said Susan dully.

The three women stared at each other, stricken.

"It's not true--it's not," gasped Rilla.

"The thing would be--ridiculous," said Gertrude Oliver--and then she
laughed horribly.

"Susan, who told you this--when did the news come?" asked Mrs. Blythe.

"I got it over the long-distance phone from Charlottetown half an hour
ago," said Susan. "The news came to town late last night. It was Dr.
Holland phoned it out and he said it was only too true. Since then I
have done nothing, Mrs. Dr. dear. I am very sorry dinner is not ready.
It is the first time I have been so remiss. If you will be patient I
will soon have something for you to eat. But I am afraid I let the
potatoes burn."

"Dinner! Nobody wants any dinner, Susan," said Mrs. Blythe wildly. "Oh,
this thing is unbelievable--it must be