Should she return home and re-enter society as her mother wished, sooner or later she must prove a second disappointment. For she had no social gifts; she could never learn to talk as her friends did. If questions were asked of her she could only reply with facts, not because she was lacking in sympathy or imagination, but because she had not the grace of words. So with neither beauty nor charm, how could she ever even hope to gratify her mother by securing the distinguished husband she so desired for her?
But since there was a place in the world for bees as well as butterflies, Mildred never meant to allow herself to grow unhappy again. She had a real talent for nursing; her work had received only praise. So here in Europe, where there seemed to be the greatest need of her services, she meant to remain as long as possible. This, in spite of the alluring picture of home which would thrust itself before her consciousness.
At this instant the boy on the bed moved and sighed and at the same instant the American girl forgot herself. He had opened his eyes and Mildred could see that he had become dimly conscious of his own condition and his surroundings.
But this boy could never have been more than dimly conscious of most things in his short life, he was so stupid and could neither read nor write; indeed, he had a vocabulary of but a few hundred words. Peter had been a laborer on the estates of a Polish nobleman when the call came to arms. And so often in the past week while she had been caring for him Mildred had been reminded of some farm animal by the way the boy endured pain, he had been so dumb and uncomplaining.
Even now he made no attempt to speak, but as she leaned over and took his hand Mildred realized that the boy could live but a few moments longer.
After a little tender smoothing of his cover the girl turned away. The Russian peasant is always a devout Catholic, so Mildred realized that he would wish a priest with him at the end.
She had walked only a few feet from the young soldier’s bedside when an unaccustomed atmosphere of excitement in the ward arrested her attention.
It would not be necessary for her to summon a priest; some one must have anticipated her desire. For the priest was even now approaching. However, he was a familiar figure, passing hourly among the wounded and their attendants; his presence would cause no excitement.
The next instant Mildred understood the priest was not alone. He was accompanied by one of the most famous men in all Europe.
Although she had never seen him until this instant, Mildred Thornton had not a moment’s doubt of the man’s identity. This was the Commander of the fortress at Grovno, General Dmitri Alexis, at the present hour the bulwark of many Russian hopes.