Lucy went thoughtfully out into the ward and, meeting Major Greyson, sent him to her father’s room. Then Miss Pearse found her and took her off to lunch, at which she sat down tired and famished.
“I guess you are hungry,” remarked the young nurse, helping her to a steaming ladleful of cabbage soup. “I would lie down a little while after this if I were you,” she added, with a glance at Lucy’s flushed cheeks. “You mustn’t be too tired for your journey back to Calais, for I’m afraid it will be a long and tiresome one.”
She rose from the table as she spoke in answer to a knock at the door. Almost at once she came back saying, “Major Greyson would like to speak to you a minute, Lucy.”
Outside the door the officer gave Lucy a nod of greeting and spoke quickly.
“I wanted to tell you that we have arranged for you to leave here to-morrow morning. One of the nurses sent back for rest to Calais is going too. I can’t stop to give you the details now, but your father will not have you wait for Leslie, in case he does not get here to-night.” He gave an emphatic nod at sight of Lucy’s troubled face. “He’s right, you know. Leslie would have taken you off before this; but things turn up so quickly, one can’t plan everything. Go back and eat your lunch now. I’ll see you later.”
Lucy went back and sat down again, her appetite chased away. Now that departure was really at hand her thoughts and feelings were very conflicting. Longing for the peace of Surrey and its freedom from the terrible sights and sounds about her was mixed with a great and growing sense of pride and satisfaction in her nearness to the heart of the great struggle; in the never-dying hope that she might be of service to the cause she loved so well. Thinking these things she choked down her bread untasted, wishing desperately that her mother would come. Suddenly something struck her ears like a great shock. She started up, gasping, and saw that the nurses had started up likewise, but now they were dropping back into their chairs, with faint smiles of pure relief. In a flash she understood. The bombardment had ceased. Not died away to utter silence, but compared with the ear-splitting din of the night and morning the scattering fire remaining seemed no more than rifle shots.
Miss Pearse said, “Sit down, Lucy. It’s stopped, thank heaven!”
She spoke in her ordinary tone of voice, and Lucy, answering her, did not know how to pitch her own voice and half shouted, uncertain if she could be heard. “Is it all over?” she stammered, wanting to cry, strangely enough, and swallowing hard to keep from it.
“Oh, I don’t know,” was the doubtful reply. “Be thankful, anyhow, that it has stopped for a little while.”
Just the low sound of the voices around the table was a pleasure, after the fragments shouted in each other’s ears so long. It took some minutes to get used to the sudden change—the long continued noise left a great vacancy not at once filled up by ordinary sounds. The nurses hurried through their meal and rose one by one to go back to their duties. Outside the door a nurse whom Lucy did not know had come up and was speaking to Miss Pearse.