"What is it?" Nora asked. "What has happened?"
She forgot where she was. She spoke in English, and the man next her answered as though he understood, as though he had not even noticed that she had addressed him in a foreign language. His young face was crimson with exultation.
"They say there is to be war!" he answered hoarsely. "They say there is to be war!"
And then she understood, then the reality of it bore down upon her with the crushing weight of a horrible revelation. She tried to force a passage for herself out of this crowd of enemies, but like a straw in the swirl of a whirlpool she was swept back. And in that moment of helplessness the hatred which had lain smouldering burst into full flame in Nora's heart. Reckless and defiant, she fought against the seething mass of humanity, and for her the struggle was a real thing. She pitted herself against them all; alone amongst those thousands, she felt herself indued with superhuman strength and courage. In her exultation she could have cried aloud: "You fools, you poor fools, who dare to rise against US—US, the elect of God among the nations!"
It was a moment prescient of victory, unshadowed by a single doubt or fear. A moment! Then the murmur burst into a great shout, the crowd broke asunder, and to the rattle of drums, the shrill voice of the pipes, a regiment of Infantry passed through, the thunder of their march sounding like some mighty accompaniment to the high notes of the warlike music. No confusion, no hurry, the officers at the head of their companies, grave, resolute, filled with the consciousness of their great calling; the men silent, their eyes fixed ahead as though the enemy lay straight before them, awaiting the final struggle. What it was Nora could not, in that moment of conflicting emotion, clearly analyse. Something had fallen like an icy hand upon her courage. Those faces that passed so close to her through the driving snow, column after column, those healthy, weather-beaten faces so full of life and strength, those broad-shouldered figures, erect, sturdy, swinging forward as though one soul, one mind governed each and all alike—they had made her afraid. She felt herself flung back by a huge pitiless Juggernaut, before which her strength broke like a frail reed. She turned away, sick and trembling, and as she did so her eyes fell on the man who had retained his place at her side.
"Ach, du lieber Gott!" he said, as though she had spoken to him. "That was my regiment—the 115th. Perhaps I shall be called in—I also have been a soldier."
She looked at him and she understood. He, too, was Soldat, he too could carry his gun and take his place with the best, he too had been taught to bear his share worthily in the highest of all human callings—one saw the pride of it in his face. And he was not alone. He was typical of all, of a whole nation in arms.
A sort of panic seized her. She turned and fled, thrusting her way through the thinning crowd with the strength of despair. Only one thought possessed her—to get away, to escape from a force which she had learnt to fear. Panting, disordered, scarcely knowing what she did or meant to do, she reached her home at last. Silence greeted her—silence and an absolute darkness. She entered the drawing-room and turned on the light. No one. Her husband's door, locked when she had gone out, stood wide open.
"Wolff!" she called. Her voice shook. She called again, and then her brother's name, but the silence remained unbroken. She looked about her, and her eyes chanced to rest an instant on her table; she saw that a letter was lying on the blotting-case, which had not been there before. She ran and picked it up. It was addressed to her in Miles's handwriting.
"Johann has just run in to look for Wolff," he scrawled. "He says war is declared, and I'm off. There is a train leaving at eight, and I have no time to lose. Sorry I can't say good-bye, old girl. I wish you could come, but I suppose you can't. We'll come and fetch you though, never fear!"