Whether Lucy took her companion’s words to heart or whether she was too sleepy to worry about anything for long, she went to sleep that night without much trouble, glad of what was really a lull in the bombardment.
For several hours in the welcome quiet she slept peacefully, until a dream began disturbing her until she tossed restlessly on the hard, narrow cot. The dream became a nightmare—a whirling thing about some mad adventure. It roused her almost to wakefulness, but not enough to know she was awake. Was she at home on Governor’s Island? The drums were beating wildly in her ears. Now she had risen into the air—with Bob in his airplane. But they were in a thunder-storm, or else what was that awful thunder? She sat up, wide awake, conscious of having called out with all her strength.
Miss Pearse’s voice spoke to her from the door. “Did you call, Lucy? Don’t be frightened. I was coming in to stay with you.” She shouted, but Lucy could not hear her. The roar and crash of the guns was like the noise of thunderbolts above the house—a thousand of them together. Miss Pearse sat down on the cot beside her and spoke into her ear.
“The town is not in danger, but the firing started again an hour ago. The Germans have begun a big attack for miles along the line.”
CHAPTER III
A GLIMPSE OF BOB
Lucy knew she could sleep no more that night. She got up and began to dress, with pounding heart and uncertain fingers. There was no use trying to talk. Miss Pearse and her companion, Miss Willis, were also getting dressed, intending to return to duty at the hospital in anticipation of heavy casualties from the front. Dawn was just breaking through the shadowy darkness. Lucy stood by the open window, her ear-drums ringing from the quivering air, and thought of the peace of a Surrey morning, when often she had looked out at dawn on the quiet woodland, and of the first soft notes of the birds around them when she and Janet had started out early to their gardens. If she were only back there! As this thought came unbidden she tied her hair-ribbon with a sharp, reproachful jerk, and answered herself with genuine scorn.
“Is this what all your longing to get nearer to the front and be as brave as Bob amounts to? Slacker! Heavens, what a big one,” she breathed, her mind distracted from all else as a mighty explosion shook the house.
“Lucy, are you ready?” asked Miss Pearse in her ear. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. Come to the hospital.”
Out in the street in the half darkness, figures of men were hurrying past, calling to each other in scraps of French or English that went unheard in the increasing uproar. The eastern sky was illumined before the dawn by bursts of red and yellow fire, and the air smelt thickly of smoke and dust. Lucy thought dazedly of her father, then of her mother, remembering thankfully Miss Pearse’s confidence that she must be further from the guns than Château-Plessis. Perhaps Mr. Leslie might be with her—he must surely be almost back by now. Lastly, her anxious thoughts hovered about her brother and could find no comfort there. Was Bob in the midst of that awful conflict? She knew he was, since the attack must reach as far as Cantigny. At that moment, though, it did not seem possible that such a bombardment could last many hours.