"Yes, little daughter, it is," said her father gently. His face was white, too, and he looked tired and worn.
"Tell me, what is it?" Lucy whispered.
"We don't know. All they have heard at Washington is that he never returned from his last scouting expedition. I telegraphed for any more details they could give me, but the Adjutant General has sent back word that he knows nothing more. We must hope for the best."
Lucy drew her hand away, and turning, threw her arms around her mother's neck, vainly trying to check the sobs that choked her and the tears that blinded her eyes. She could not speak a word of comfort, but perhaps her mother felt, as she held her, what she would have said, if words had not been quite beyond her.
Marian stole out to meet Julia and Anne before they reached the door. Her eyes were wet, too, and her heart throbbed with a sympathy that took her far from herself to a new depth of understanding.
At last Lucy raised her head, dashing the tears from her hot cheeks. "Mr. Harding could find out something!" she cried, her voice trembling with a bitter rebellion against this dreadful uncertainty. "He was so near to Bob, surely he will send us word of whatever he knows!"
Major Gordon shook his head with a sad sternness. "Don't blame him, little daughter. The same dispatches that brought this news reported Dick wounded and missing, after a German raid on our first line trenches."
Lucy could stand there no longer. She ran blindly out and up to her own room, where she sank down on her little sofa and buried her face among the pillows.
In the dark days which followed, Marian was Lucy's greatest comfort. Lucy would not say all she feared or even all she hoped to her mother, who had enough to bear without any bursts of unhappiness or groundless hopefulness on Lucy's part. But Marian listened with quiet and helpful sympathy in the hours when Lucy's patience and courage utterly gave way, and sleep refused to come.
The whole garrison shared the Gordons' trouble, and in the friendly spirit of comradeship which unites our army, all the people tried to show their heartfelt sympathy. Mrs. Houston brought her Red Cross work to Mrs. Gordon's, and the two women sat for long hours together, making whole boxes of slings and dressings, for work was more bearable than idleness. Major Gordon found it so, too, for he kept at his duties until late at night, and seemed to find nothing else worth doing.