“Come, Lucy, be a soldier,” he begged, pity shining in his eyes at sight of her white face, struggling for composure, beneath the childish mop of fair hair. Then as she turned her wide hazel eyes, filled with a desperate resolution, upon him, he said with stubborn confidence, “This isn’t the end of things, you know, Lucy. This is only the dark hour before the dawn.”
CHAPTER V
THE ENGLISH PRISONER
As Major Greyson spoke, both he and Lucy turned again by a common impulse to the street, where the German mounted officers had advanced as far as the square in front of the hospital. Lucy looked at them more calmly now and for the first time saw ranks of stretcher-bearers and motor ambulances following in the wake of the companies. The men, too, who at her first terrified glance had seemed only pitiless visitors, were not formed into the full strength of companies. They marched in column of fours, but the columns were short and straggling ones. The men’s step was slow and heavy, their gray uniforms thickly covered with mud and dust and more than one bandaged arm or head showed among them. They crossed the broken pavement of the square with the springless tread of utter weariness, no light of triumph in their faces as they came to a halt in front of the old town hall of the recaptured town.
“Huh! Pretty well done for!” ejaculated Major Greyson, a kind of exultation in his voice as he stepped back from his place by the window. “Not much of the conquering hero left just now! I must go to the officer in charge, Lucy. We are likely to have a hundred or so of German wounded quartered on us.”
With a last reassuring pat on her shoulder he left the room, and Lucy stayed alone by the window. In a moment the nurse stole in behind her and, after a glance at Colonel Gordon, joined her in a silent, fascinated watch for the next move of the invaders. Two officers had dismounted and gone up the hospital steps. The other four wheeled about and rode across the square in the direction of the Mayor’s office and the French hospital. Not a human being except themselves was to be seen about the place. The remaining townspeople did not come out to act as audience to the German entrance. Perhaps the conquerors were just as well pleased that few eyes saw the second half of the column. The soldiers of the depleted companies at a second order now sprang forward and began helping to unload the motor-lorries packed with wounded, and to assist the stretcher-bearers to carry their burdens into the hospital. Some of the ambulances had turned across the square toward the other hospital, but long before Lucy stopped counting the wounded men the nurse beside her had hurried away to hear her part in the tremendous task.
For a few minutes more Lucy stood there, but she was no longer watching without purpose. Her fear and horror she had resolutely fought down, not down for good, but under her control. She saw now clearly the hard, inevitable facts that Château-Plessis was in German hands, that the price of safety for the people in the hospital—for her father and the other wounded soldiers of the Allies—lay in caring for the enemy’s wounded, and that the task was very great. She was here in the midst of it, and here she must stay. She was strong and able to help, and in hard work she saw her only chance for any peace of mind. With a determination firmly taken she turned from the window and, dropping down beside her father’s cot, laid her face for a moment against his hand. He stirred a little, as though about to wake, but she rose cautiously from beside him and with a last look, as though for courage, at that brave soldier’s quiet face, went out into the wards.
The hospital was filled with German soldiers carrying in their wounded, while the American staff did all in their limited power to bring order out of the confusion. Lucy took but one timid glance among them. She caught sight of Miss Pearse on one side of the hall kneeling by a mattress to unfold a blanket. Her face was flushed and weary, and her eyes bright with troubled emotion, but at Lucy’s approach she looked up at her to say, “What is it, Lucy? What can I do?”
Lucy chopped down beside her and spoke quickly, knowing how little time could be spared to listen. “That’s what I came to ask you. What can I do? May I help in the wards? You must let me do something. I’m strong and can stand a lot. Don’t say you won’t. I can do more than you think.”
Miss Pearse smiled faintly at the eager rush of words. “Of course I shan’t refuse,” she answered, and her eyes met Lucy’s with a silent tribute to that battle for courage she had fought and won. “You can’t work in the wards—at least not now. But there are, oh, so many things to do. Come with me to the steward’s room.”