runkful, and her dearest
mother had made them all--.

And Daddy! How Daddy had played Santa Claus, in red cloth and fur with
a wide belt and big boots, every year, even last year when she was
nineteen and ready to make her bow to society. And now he might never
play Santa Claus again--for before Christmas had come he would be on
the high seas, perhaps on the other side of the seas--at the edge of No
Man's Land. And there would be no Star, no dolls, no gold and silver
balls--for the nation which had given Santa Claus to the world, had
robbed the world of peace and of goodwill. It had robbed the world of
Christmas!

She came back to hear the Captain saying, "I want you to sing for
me--Drusilla."

They rose and went into the other room.

"Tired, dearest?" Derry asked, as he found a chair for her and drew his
own close to it.

"No, I am not tired," she told him, "but I hate to think that Captain
Hewes must go."

"I'd give the world to be going with him."

Her hands were clasped tightly. "Would you give me up?"

"You? I should never have to give you up, thank God. You would never
hold me back."

"Shouldn't I, Derry?"

"My precious, don't I know? Better than you know yourself."

Drusilla and the Captain were standing by the wide window which looked
out over the city. The snow came down like a curtain, shutting out the
sky.

"Do you think she loves him?" Jean asked.

"I hope so," heartily.

"But to send him away so--easily. Oh, Derry, she can't care."

"She is sending him not easily, but bravely. Margaret let her husband
go like that."

"Would you want me to let you go like that, Derry?"

"Yes, dear."

"Wouldn't you want me to--cry?"

"Perhaps. Just a little tear. But I should want you to think beyond
the tears. I should want you to know that for us there can be no real
separation. You are mine to the end of all eternity, Jean."

He believed it. And she believed it. And perhaps, after all, it was
true. There must be a very separate and special Heaven for those who
love once, and never love again.

Drusilla came away from the window to sing for them--a popular song.
But there was much in it to intrigue the imagination--a vision of the
heroic Maid--a hint of the Marseillaise--and so the nations were
singing it--.

"Jeanne d'Arc, Jeanne d'Arc,
Oh, soldats! entendez vous?
'Allons, enfants de la patrie,'
Jeanne d'Arc, la victoire est pour vous--"

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