“You’re a good little nurse, Lucy Gordon! That’s the way to talk to a sick man,” said a strong, eager voice beside her, as Lucy left her father’s room at last, a long hour later. A tall young army surgeon, with bright blue eyes and ruddy, freckled face, had crossed the ward at sight of her. Lucy looked quickly up and for very astonishment her heart skipped a beat, while a slow smile lighted up her tired face. For an instant she was at home again on Governor’s Island, in that happy time when her family had all been together. Was it only two years since Captain Greyson had brought her through the measles—or was it a hundred years? Anyway he was a major now, from the leaves upon his shoulders.

“Was it you in there all the time?” she asked dazedly. “I never noticed.”

“That’s not surprising,” said the officer smiling. He took Lucy’s arm and led her through a doorway into a little ruined garden, lit by the afternoon sunlight. “Here’s a bench; sit down until Miss Pearse brings you out something to eat.”

Thankful beyond words for the presence of this old friend to care for her in her utter weariness, Lucy dropped down upon the stone seat and looked again into Major Greyson’s face. “I’m glad to see you,” she said simply. “Do you think—is there a chance——?” She could get no further, her shaky voice half lost in the cannons’ roar, but Major Greyson bent down to catch her words.

“Yes, there is, and don’t stop for one moment thinking it,” was his swift answer, as he looked at Lucy with keen, honest eyes. “There’s more of a chance since you talked with him than since he was wounded. There’s a tide in the succession of weary pain-racked days when nature needs hope and nothing else to keep up the battle, and, by Jove, you plucky little girl, you brought it!”

“I won’t cry again,” thought Lucy, fighting for self-control. She clenched her hands together with all her strength, while a solitary tear dropped down upon them. Major Greyson saw her struggle and, prompted by a heavy burst of firing from the French and American batteries in front of ChÂteau-Plessis, began to speak of the town’s capture.

“Things are still in poor shape here—hospitals and everything. You see, we’ve been in possession only since Tuesday,” he said, glancing about the little garden, cluttered with fallen stones and rubbish, to where, through a gap in the battered wall, the half-ruined street showed beyond. “We had a hard fight to get it but, strangely enough, in spite of the heavy bombardment, the place wasn’t deserted. Some of the inhabitants have simply stuck it out, German occupation and all. It takes a lot to drive these poor French people from their homes.”

“But weren’t lots of them killed?” asked Lucy, amazed.

“Not those who hid in their houses at the further end of the town. It was the poor refugees trying to get out of the place between bombardments who suffered most. We are doing all we can for them. Mr. Leslie has worked night and day, I’m certain, since the opening of this last offensive.”

“But aren’t the German lines still very near? The guns sound almost on top of us,” said Lucy, her voice grown scared and trembling again as a thunderous explosion hurt her ears.

“Oh, their lines are more than five miles away. Those are our guns that sound so close,” said Major Greyson reassuringly. He glanced over Lucy’s shoulder as he spoke, and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Good for you, Miss Pearse,” he said. “That’s just exactly what she needs. Here’s your breakfast and luncheon, Lucy, rolled into one.”

A young Red Cross nurse, with brown hair curling beneath her veil, and lips that smiled a pleasant welcome at the little newcomer, came quickly up with a full tray, which she set down upon the bench.

“Miss Pearse, here is Miss Lucy Gordon,” said Major Greyson, nodding in Lucy’s direction. “Miss Pearse has promised to take a little bit of care of you, Lucy, if you’re not too big now to be taken care of.”

“Indeed I’m not,” Lucy protested, rising to hold out a friendly, grateful hand, which the young nurse took warmly, saying:

“Perhaps you won’t think I’m taking much care of you when you see what I’ve brought, Miss Gordon. It isn’t even a lunch, but we’re rather hard up here.”

“Oh, I’m not particular,” smiled Lucy, thinking back a day to tea at Highland House, and to what she had thought hardship then. Now, she suddenly discovered that she was dying of hunger, at sight of the eggs and bread and the cup of chocolate on the little tray, when Miss Pearse uncovered the dishes.

“Sit down and eat it all,” urged Major Greyson. “Your father is asleep and, anyway, I’m going back to him.”

Lucy needed no more urging, and taking the tray upon her knees she ate the little meal with keen enjoyment, and a great feeling of returning strength in both mind and body.

“That’s better,” remarked Miss Pearse ten minutes later, when some of the healthy color had stolen back into Lucy’s pale cheeks. “Now you don’t look like a ghost any more. Here’s your cousin coming to find you.”

She pointed to the doorway from which Mr. Leslie was just coming out, and picked up the tray of empty dishes, saying, “I’ll take these and go back, for you won’t be alone now.”

“Don’t go far; how can I find you?” asked Lucy, anxiously clinging to this new friend in the sad strangeness of her surroundings.

“I shan’t be more than a hundred yards away,” smiled the girl, nodding toward the door leading to the big crowded ward, and taking up the tray she crossed the garden, stopping to point out to Mr. Leslie the bench where Lucy was.

Mr. Leslie had been snatching a little of the sleep denied him for the past thirty-six hours, and now, almost rested, he looked better than when Lucy had first seen him at Highland House. Her spirits rose unaccountably at sight of his more cheerful face, as she made swift room for him on the seat beside her.

“Major Greyson said Father could get better,” were the eager words that came first to her lips. She scanned Mr. Leslie’s face for confirmation of her hopes, and found a part of what she sought in the slow nod with which he answered:

“Major Greyson wouldn’t have said it if it were not true; and, more than that, he told me he had hopes. Thank God I brought you, dear. Your father has been sleeping quietly ever since your visit. He longed so for some of you to come, and wondered in his fever where you were.”

“Oh, Cousin Henry,” Lucy cried, a desperate longing rising in her own heart, “how many days before Mother can be here? Surely the trains must be running better now?”

“They are running every minute of the day and night, but not just along her way, which is north-west. And mostly they are freight cars, crammed with men and munitions, being rushed to where they are most needed. You see, it’s hard to tell just when she can get here, for of the several telegrams I know she has sent only one reached me.”

Lucy sat drearily silent.

“It won’t be many days, though,—I’m sure of that,” declared Mr. Leslie, speaking in a more hopeful tone after having put the facts frankly. “Look for her any hour, and you may be just as right as I am. And now see here,” he added, rising from the bench and holding out his hand. “I want you to come and get some sleep. You won’t be any good to your father if you are all worn out. Major Greyson says you may lie down in the nurses’ resting room off the ward. I promise to call you as soon as your father wakes.”

Sunset was streaming through the narrow lancet-shaped windows of the room and gleaming on the old stone floor when Miss Pearse’s voice, calling to her, roused her from sleep. “The Colonel is awake now,” she said, bending over the cot as Lucy rubbed her heavy eyes.

Lucy sprang up, struggling to collect her thoughts, as she followed the nurse out of the room. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had touched the pillow, and now awake again to the never-ending hammer of the guns upon her ears, she marveled at it. She smoothed back her hair, remembering dimly that she had not fixed it since that morning on the boat, and wondering how long before people living in a place like this could learn to get up and go to bed as though they lived through regular, peaceful hours. Miss Pearse looked as neat and calm as the young nurse who had taught the army girls first-aid on Governor’s Island, though her cheeks were flushed just now with weariness after a long, hard day. “Come in,” she said to Lucy on the threshold of Colonel Gordon’s room.

Lucy entered softly, for not yet had the uselessness of quiet footsteps in the midst of thundering guns occurred to her, and went to her father’s side. His long sleep had lifted a little of the shadow from his pale face, but his breathing was still short and difficult, and his eyes were closed. Lucy’s heart sank miserably as she looked at him. Behind her Major Greyson entered, and kneeling beside the cot, clasped the wounded officer’s wrist, looking keenly into his face.

“Father,” said Lucy at last, her voice shaking in spite of all she could do, “won’t you speak to me?”

Colonel Gordon stirred a little and opened his eyes. For a moment he was silent, then, as before, a smile flickered over his set lips, and taking a hard breath he murmured, “Lucy—here—where’s——?” The rest was lost as in sudden weakness he closed his eyes again and turned his face to the pillow.

“Where’s Mother, did you say?” entreated Lucy, bending over him. “She’s coming, Father, truly, she’ll soon be here!” But Colonel Gordon could not speak in answer this time. Only his hand, moving for a second toward Lucy’s arm, showed that he felt her presence.

Lucy turned a despairing face to Major Greyson, but his look of patient hopefulness had not changed. He motioned to her to leave her father’s side, and when, with a backward glance at that still figure on the cot, she had obeyed, he drew her outside the door and spoke as though answering her question.

“It’s all right; I didn’t expect any more. This is the worst time of the day for him. I still hope, and have every reason to think he is better to-day than yesterday.”

“Oh, Major Greyson,” Lucy faltered, vainly seeking to put her thoughts into words.

The surgeon led her out again into the little garden, over which darkness had now begun to fall, unbrightened by lights from the sombre streets of the half-ruined town. Lucy looked up at the first twinkling stars in the clear sky, and they seemed the only familiar things in all that dreary cannon-racked desolation.

“You’re tired, poor little girl,” said Major Greyson, when a great sigh had fallen involuntarily from Lucy’s lips. “Miss Pearse is going to take you across the street to the house where the nurses sleep. You will be right by her, and I give you my word at the slightest change in your father you shall be sent for. You won’t be any good to-morrow if you don’t sleep to-night. Mr. Leslie is waiting in my room to have some supper with you now.”

It was soon after eight o’clock when Lucy bade her Cousin Henry good-night and left the hospital in Miss Pearse’s charge. Mr. Leslie had done his generous best in the past hour to cheer her, but without success, though she had tried hard to respond to his kind efforts. Her eyelids were like leaden weights, her brain seemed to have no thought nor feeling left in it, and she crossed the street, which was cluttered with stones and dÉbris, stumbling as she walked, and vaguely wondering if all this were true. Miss Pearse was very kind and helped the tired girl to bed with gentle hands and in understanding silence. But once in her narrow cot, in the room adjoining that in which Miss Pearse and another nurse slept, Lucy’s dulled mind amazingly awoke and flashed before her pictures of everything she had seen and done in the past day and night. The pounding of the guns, which had become for a while an almost unnoticed part of her surroundings, seemed swelled to a horrible din that beat like hammers on her forehead, and not even with her head buried in the pillow could she find peace enough to sleep.

For months afterward Lucy remembered that first night at ChÂteau-Plessis. The misery of her loneliness overwhelmed her as she lay there wide-eyed in the thundering darkness, beset by fears she vainly struggled to put aside, afraid to look back at what seemed peaceful days behind, or ahead, to what might come to-morrow. At last she could bear it no longer, and sitting up in bed she determined to go and beg Miss Pearse’s company, tired though she knew the poor nurse must be after her long day’s work. But Miss Pearse had not quite forgotten the lonely little girl near her. Before Lucy had left her bed she heard some one at the door of her room, and a kind voice said, “Lucy! Can’t you sleep? I’m going to lie down on your bed beside you.”

There was not much room, but Lucy made all she could, with a heart almost too grateful for speech, and her faltered thanks was lost in the roar of the cannon. With Miss Pearse dropping off to exhausted sleep at her side, the thoughts that had tormented her weary mind faded off into blankness. At last she fell asleep.

When morning came Lucy opened her eyes and found she was alone. The sun shining onto her cot had awakened her, and, sitting up, she looked soberly around at the bare, unfurnished room. The plaster on the walls was cracked, and fallen stones had nearly blocked up the chimney. Only in one corner hung a picture, as though forgotten in hurried flight. It was of a dog, jumping up to beg, with ears pricked forward and twinkling eyes behind his silky hair. Lucy smiled at it, wishing it were alive. With heavy heart she shrank from facing the new day, and desperately longed to fall back into dreamland. But, unlike the night before, she felt strength enough within her to summon up her courage and make a prompt and vigorous effort.

“Come on, Lucy Gordon, buck up! You can’t give in. Have they brought you this near the battle line to be a coward, or are you going to help your father and,” scornfully, “they used to call you Captain Lucy?”

Like Alice in Wonderland, she was fond of scolding herself, and could do it as effectively as any one else could have done it for her. Close on top of the scolding she got up and in her anxious eagerness to be dressed and to see her father she forgot to pity herself further, and thought more than anything else that this day might bring her mother to her before it ended. “But if only those guns would stop one minute!” she faltered, as she paused in her dressing to cover her ears, half deafened by the double bombardment.

Out of the bag so hurriedly packed at Highland House she selected a blue gingham dress, for the day was warm and sunny. She gave a hasty glance at her hair-ribbons in the little mirror she had brought with her, and, after putting the bare room in order, went out in search of the stairway. It was close at hand, beyond the adjoining bedroom, the foot of it opening directly on the street. Lucy ran down it, the sound of voices coming to her from outside above the cannons’ noise.

The street was crowded with French soldiers, together with a scattering of Americans, who looked very much a part of things as they passed by, joined in friendly groups with the poilus. One and all were hot, dusty and loaded down with field equipment, for there were few permissions just now, and these men had been sent back for but a few hours’ respite from the fighting-line. Lucy’s eager, shining eyes followed each American soldier as he passed, all else forgotten but those dear familiar figures, until two women, coming by with baskets on their arms, stopping to smile and point in her direction, recalled her to herself. She returned their smiles as cheerfully as she could, wondering much at the patient endurance which had left their thin faces neither frightened nor despairing. A dozen women passed her as she stood on the threshold breathing the soft spring air, and several children too. All were hurrying, intent upon their errands, but they looked quiet and self-possessed, not seeming even to hear the never ceasing explosions which forced them to speak loudly in each other’s ears.

A minute later Lucy caught sight of Miss Pearse and Mr. Leslie crossing the street from the hospital, and she quickly made her way among the broken paving stones to meet them. With beating heart she searched both their faces, and drew a sigh of relief when Mr. Leslie met her anxious eyes with a nod and smile of greeting.

“It’s all right, Lucy,” were his first words. “Your father is, if anything, better. He is waiting to see you now.” He looked with some concern into her face, which was pale after the hours she had lain awake, but she smiled with quick reassurance.

“Don’t say I look tired, Cousin Henry,” she begged. “I did sleep some of the time, didn’t I, Miss Pearse? And I feel perfectly well.”

“You slept more than I expected you to in this racket,” said the nurse frankly. “It takes several days to get so you don’t mind it.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” remarked Mr. Leslie, as they mounted the steps of the quaint old building, crowned with its two Gothic towers. “I’ve been near here for several weeks now, but to tell the truth I’m not used to it yet.”

The sun was shining brightly into Colonel Gordon’s room, and as Lucy entered it her spirits rose with a sudden great rush of hope. Her father’s eyes were open and for the moment his slow, heavy breathing did not contract his forehead into lines of pain.

“Oh, good-morning, Father!” she said, gulping down a wild desire to cry, and smiling crookedly instead. She dropped onto the little chair beside the cot and took his hand in hers. “You’re better, I know you are,” she told him, with shining eyes.

“Hope so,” murmured Colonel Gordon, shifting his weight cautiously on the pillows. The fingers that Lucy held tightened and clasped hers, and her father looked down at the little hand in the blue sleeve. “Lucy,” he said slowly, as though making an effort to collect his thoughts, “Leslie is here with you—isn’t he?”

“Yes, indeed—he’s right outside,” said Lucy quickly. Looking into her father’s eyes she saw that they had grown clear and purposeful in spite of the dark shadows of pain beneath. With a sudden clearing of his brain he spoke more quickly:

“You ought not to be here. I asked for you when I was too far gone to think.” He stopped for a moment, listening to the guns. “They’re not far off. Our lines cannot be more than four miles away. You must go back to England.”

“Oh, Father!” cried Lucy breathlessly, “you won’t make me go back as soon as this? The town is quite safe, and I must see you a little stronger before I go. Mother will be here soon, you know. Think what a chance it is for me—to help you to get well. Don’t you know how I’ve always longed to help?”

A smile touched Colonel Gordon’s pale lips as he answered slowly, “You have helped, little daughter; I’ve got to get well. I know it since you came. Before that it seemed easier not to—fight.” He struggled for breath and closed his eyes.

Terrified, Lucy started up, but her father’s fingers still clasped hers, and, conquering her fear, she sat quietly beside him until footsteps sounded at the door and Major Greyson entered.

“All right—stay where you are,” he nodded, his eyes on Colonel Gordon’s face.

The sun moved slowly across the floor, as for an hour Lucy sat silent and motionless, until her father’s fingers at last relaxed, and he fell into a quiet sleep.

Miss Pearse put an arm about Lucy’s cramped shoulders and led her from the room and out into the garden.

“You poor little kid, you haven’t had your breakfast,” she said, pointing to the tray she had made ready and set on the old stone bench. “We’ve finished long ago. Sit down this minute and eat, and I’ll call Mr. Leslie. He’s been waiting to talk to you.”

Lucy thought she had never tasted anything so delicious as that breakfast of bread and army bacon. She could not stop for more than a nod to Mr. Leslie when he approached her, but his thoughtful smile had a far-away look in it as though he had plenty to think over while he waited for his little cousin to satisfy her hunger. At last she put aside her tray and he sat down by her on the bench, drawing some papers and envelopes from his pocket.

“I’m going off to-day, Lucy,” he began, “to attend to some business of my own, and secondly, to arrange for your return to England. Hold on a minute and let me finish,” he said quickly, as Lucy showed every sign of interrupting him. “I have to make those arrangements a day or two ahead if you are to get through with as little delay as we had in coming here. These papers have to be signed by the proper authorities, and they cannot always be found at a moment’s notice. It doesn’t mean that you must leave to-morrow or even the day after, though I have just had rather a debate with Major Greyson on the subject.”

“Does he wish me to go?” asked Lucy indignantly.

“No, I’ll have to confess it was I who made the suggestion. I said this beastly bombardment was too hard on your nerves. Your father is better, your mother is on her way here, and you ought to go. Major Greyson seemed to think he knows you better than I. He declared that your nerves could stand the strain, and that so long as you were here you might stay two or three days longer, for your father’s sake.”

“He’s right; I can stand it,” exclaimed Lucy with a quick, happy smile, for it is happiness to have struggled hard for courage and to have found it at last. “I may stay, Cousin Henry—you said I might?” she pleaded, all her fear and loneliness forgotten in renewed longing to be of service to her father, and to see her mother again, if only for an hour.

“I’m going to find out about the journey back,” was Mr. Leslie’s cautious answer. “We needn’t decide just yet on the time for it—especially as we shouldn’t be able to keep to any schedule. We shall have to return as best we can.”

“Are you going now, Cousin Henry? Which way?” asked Lucy, feeling suddenly very down-hearted at the thought of losing his brave, comforting presence.

“To Amiens to-day; to American Headquarters in this sector some time to-morrow, and back here to-morrow night. The distances are short, and I’ve already booked a ride in a motor-lorry to Amiens. I know you’re in good hands, little girl,” he added, rising from the bench and taking Lucy’s hands in his. “Miss Pearse has promised me to take care of you, and Major Greyson is right on the spot. I won’t be gone longer than to-morrow night.”

“All right—don’t worry about me,” said Lucy, summoning the ghost of a smile as she slipped her arm through his and walked with him to the ruined gateway of the little garden. All around the gate rose-bushes were bursting into leaf and bud as though this spring the stones of the wall were still solidly in place, and the garden paths still swept and tidy. Outside they met Major Greyson crossing the street from the officers’ mess.

“Are you off, Leslie?” he inquired, stopping at the gate. Then with a frank nod of cheerful encouragement at sight of Lucy’s serious face, he added, “We’ll have good news for you when you come back.”

“Keep your eye on this little soldier,” urged Mr. Leslie, trying not to feel anxious at the moment of departure.

“Don’t worry about Captain Lucy—oh, yes,” to Lucy, “that’s what they used to call you!”—was the prompt response. “I’m going to take her in now to see the Colonel. He’s really better, and the guns have slowed down a trifle—perhaps they can hear each other speak.”

“Good-bye, Cousin Henry,” said Lucy, still lingering at the gate. “Bring Mother back with you, that’s all I ask.”

On that day and the next, to Lucy’s unspeakable gratitude, Colonel Gordon continued to improve. Slowly he came back from the shadowy depths of unconsciousness, and hour by hour his powerful frame gained a new victory over his desperate weakness. His heavy, hard breathing grew gradually more natural, and on the morning following Mr. Leslie’s departure, for the first time in many days, the deadly pallor was gone from his thin face, and the lines of pain faded from his forehead as he slept. The artillery fire had slackened on both sides into what seemed comparative quiet. For long hours Lucy had sat beside him, a silent prayer of utter thankfulness in her heart, her only desire that her mother should come and find them together at this happy moment. Again and again she had imagined the meeting. Her mother’s tired and anxious face, worn with a long journey’s dreadful apprehensions, and the swift and joyful relief of the good news awaiting her. “If she would only come to-night,” she thought on the evening Mr. Leslie had promised to return. Fears and doubts on her mother’s account began to trouble her, though Miss Pearse assured her they were needless.

“She may have to endure a hundred tiresome delays on the road, but she will not be in danger,” the kind young nurse persuaded her. “The railroads are out of range of the guns. Just have patience a little longer.” Once more she repeated this as she and Lucy crossed the street that night on their way to bed. Mr. Leslie had not yet come, but it was early to expect him.

Whether Lucy took her companion’s words to heart or whether she was too sleepy to worry about anything for long, she went to sleep that night without much trouble, glad of what was really a lull in the bombardment.

For several hours in the welcome quiet she slept peacefully, until a dream began disturbing her until she tossed restlessly on the hard, narrow cot. The dream became a nightmare—a whirling thing about some mad adventure. It roused her almost to wakefulness, but not enough to know she was awake. Was she at home on Governor’s Island? The drums were beating wildly in her ears. Now she had risen into the air—with Bob in his airplane. But they were in a thunder-storm, or else what was that awful thunder? She sat up, wide awake, conscious of having called out with all her strength.

Miss Pearse’s voice spoke to her from the door. “Did you call, Lucy? Don’t be frightened. I was coming in to stay with you.” She shouted, but Lucy could not hear her. The roar and crash of the guns was like the noise of thunderbolts above the house—a thousand of them together. Miss Pearse sat down on the cot beside her and spoke into her ear.

“The town is not in danger, but the firing started again an hour ago. The Germans have begun a big attack for miles along the line.”