Katherine went out of the room. She did not like Kitty's face. There was a wildness in her eyes which alarmed her.
The moment she was alone, Kitty slipped across the bedroom into the sitting-room. She went straight to the window. To her surprise, she saw Katherine walking down the street. She wondered where she was going. Shells were dropping all over the place, bursting as they fell. Katherine passed within a few feet of one which burst with a tremendous roar. Kitty looked calmly on. The time had come when the bursting of shells mattered nothing to her. She went back to her bedroom.
"I will do it," she said to herself. "I don't care. I am desperate. I see everything now. She shall not sacrifice herself."
Kitty hastily put on her shoes; she laced them on her little feet. She pinned on her hat, went to a drawer where she kept her purse—now, alas! very light—slipped it into her pocket, and, just as she was, ran downstairs. Some men were talking in little knots. A woman now and then appeared at the end of a passage, looked anxiously at the men, and disappeared again. No one looked at Kitty as she went downstairs. The time had come when the intense general interest was so profound that small minor interests were of no account whatever. It mattered nothing to any one in the Royal Hotel that the slender girl who had for a long time been an invalid was going out with shells falling around her. Kitty left the hotel. She walked down the street. Her steps were very feeble. She met a woman, one of the townspeople. She went up to her.
"Can you and will you help me?" she said. Her voice was very shaky.
"Who are you?" said the woman.
"I want to go to Intombi. Can I go?"
"The train with the sick and wounded has just left," said the woman. "No one will be taken to Intombi until this time to-morrow. You are in danger here," she continued: "a shell might burst any moment."
"I must not die," said Kitty; "I have something to do before I die."
"Is it anything of great importance?"