Her eyes flashed grey fire under her stern brows as she demanded:
"How, pray?"
"It is out of the question, I suppose," Saxham said coldly, "that you should slacken in your ministrations among the sick and wounded, and keep out of daily and hourly danger—for her sake?"
"Impossible," her voice answered, and her heart added unheard: "Impossible, unless I should be false to my Heavenly Bridegroom out of love for the child He gave."
"Then," said Saxham bluntly, "unless these recurrent nerve-storms are to culminate in cerebral lesion and mental and physical collapse—a result more easy to avert than to deal with—take the girl about with you."
"But——" the Mother uttered in irrepressible dismay. "I—we go everywhere!"
It was most true. He had a vision, as she said it, of the black-robed, white-coifed, cheerful Sisters passing in couples through the shrapnel-littered streets, between houses of gaping walls, and shattered roofs, and glassless windows, cheerful, serene, helpful, bringing comfort to the dying, and assistance to the sick, oblivious of whistling bullets and bursting shells. And the most arduous duties, the most repulsive tasks, the most danger-fraught errands, were hers, always by right, and claim, and choice. What a woman it was! A very Judith in Israel. He knew that Judith did not like him, but unconcealed admiration was in his blue eyes as he looked at her.
"I know it. Let her go everywhere. It is the sole chance, and—you spoke of faith just now.... If you have it for yourself and the religious women of your Order, who go about doing good in confidence of the protection—I do not speak in mockery—of an Almighty Hand, why can't you have it for her?"
She had never seemed so noble in his eyes as when she took that implied rebuke of his, with meek bending of her proud head, and candid self-condemnation in the eyes that were lowered and then raised to his, and beautiful humility in her speech:
"Sir, your reproach is just; it is I who have been lacking in faith. And—it shall be as you advise."