That night Nathalie could not sleep, but tossed restlessly from side to side, as parts of Mrs. Morrow’s speech kept forcing themselves upon her memory. And just as she had succeeded in driving them away, and also the remorseful thought that she had not given her best, that she had failed to show greatness, the song the girls had sung that afternoon, with the luring, old-time air and the soul-stirring words, flashed with vivid distinctness:
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.”
The girl sat up in bed, and in a crooning whisper hummed the whole verse through, repeating again and again,
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.”
The beauty as well as the significance of the words had made their appeal. Christ had died to make men holy; she must give of her best to make men free. She must show herself great, but what could she do?
But even as the question came, so flashed the answer, and Nathalie was again softly humming,
“Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet;
Our God is marching on.”
And then suddenly a thought stamped itself upon her mind. The girl caught her breath. Yes, she had given Dick up because she had been forced to do so, but now she would make the sacrifice, give the best of herself; she would stop once and forever all useless repining. She would keep herself cheered by the thought that she was glad—she gritted her teeth determinedly—that she had Dick to give to help make people free.
Yes, but she must do something—she must give her best; no, it might not be anything very great or big, but she must show she was a true daughter of liberty. Ah, she knew what she could do, and then Nathalie fell back on her pillow, and although she lay very still, her brain was alert, thinking and planning. Yes, she could get the girls together; she would begin the very next morning. She would have every one in it, for liberty wouldn’t be liberty unless it was free to all. And then one thought and another kept popping into her mind, until finally the tired brain went on a strike and refused to register any more thoughts, and Nathalie, without a word of protest, tumbled into the land o’ dreams.
The next morning she was up betimes, and was soon singing cheerily at her work, every now and then stopping in the midst of some favored melody, to repeat softly,