shuddered. "When there's so
much ahead."

"Perhaps they don't stop, dear."

"If I could only believe that--"

"Why not? Do you remember 'Sherwood,' where Blondin rides through the
forest singing:

'"Death, what is death?" he cried,
"I must ride on--"'"

His face was lifted to the golden sky. She was never to forget the
look upon it. And with a great ache and throb of passionate
renunciation, she told herself that it was for this that the men of her
generation had been born, that they might fight against the powers of
darkness for the things of the spirit.

She lay awake a long time that night, thinking it out. Of how she had
laughed at other women, scolded, said awful things to them of how their
cowardice was holding the world back. She had thought she understood,
but she had not understood. It was giving your own--your own, which
was the test. _Oh, let those who had none of their own to give keep
silent_.

With her breath almost stopping she thought of those glorious young
souls riding on and on through infinite space, the banner of victory
floating above them. No matter what might come to the world of defeat
or of disaster, these souls would never know it, they had given
themselves in the cause of humanity--for them there would always be the
sound of silver trumpets, the clash of cymbals, the song of triumph!

Downstairs, Dr. McKenzie was listening with a frowning face to what
Derry had to tell him.

"Do you mean to say that Hilda was giving him--wine?"

"Yes. Bronson told me. But he didn't want you to depend upon his
unsupported testimony. So we fixed up a scheme, and I stayed outside
until he flashed a light for me; and then I went in and caught her."

"It is incredible. Why should she do such a thing? She has always
been a perfect nurse--a perfect nurse, Drake." He rose and walked the
floor. "But deliberately to disobey my orders--what could have been
her object?"

Derry hesitated.

"I haven't told you the worst."

Doctor McKenzie stopped in front of him. "The worst?"

"Dad is going to marry her."

"What?"

Derry repeated what he had said.

The Doctor dropped into a chair. "Who told you?"

"Dad."

"And she admitted that it was--true?"

"Yes."

Derry gave the facts. "He wasn't himself, of course, but that doesn't
change things for me."

The Doctor in the practice of his profession had learned to conceal his
emotions. He concealed now what he was feeling, bu