"But I can't go myself, so why can't I send a proxy?"

Clayton asked, smiling. "I've an idea I'd be well represented."

"That's a fine way to look at it, but I can't do it. I've saved

something, not much, but it will do for a year or two. I'm glad you made

the offer, though. It was like you, and--it showed me the way. I can't

let any man, or any group of men, finance my going."

And he stuck to it. Clayton, having in mind those careful canvasses of

the congregation of Saint Luke's which had every few years resulted in

raising the rector's salary, was surprised and touched. After all, war

was like any other grief. It brought out the best or the worst in us. It

roused or it crushed us.

The rector had been thinking.

"I'm a very fortunate man," he said, suddenly. "They're standing

squarely behind me, at home. It's the women behind the army that will

make it count, Clayton."

Clayton said nothing.

"Which reminds me," went on the rector, "that I find Mrs. Valentine has

gone away. I called on her to-day, and she has given up her apartment.

Do you happen to know where she is? She has left no address."

"Gone away?" Clayton repeated. "Why, no. I hadn't heard of it."

There in the busy street he felt a strange sense of loneliness. Always,

although he did not see her, he felt her presence. She walked the same

streets. For the calling, if his extremity became too great, he could

hear her voice over the telephone. There was always the hope, too,

of meeting her. Not by design. She had forbidden that. But some times

perhaps God would be good to them both, if they earned it, and they

could touch hands for a moment.

But--gone!

"You are certain she left no address?"

"Quite certain. She has stored her furniture, I believe."

There was a sense of hurt, then, too. She had made this decision without

telling him. It seemed incredible. A dozen decisions a day he made, and

when they were vital there was always in his mind the question as to

whether she would approve or not. He could not go to her with them, but

mentally he was always consulting with her, earning her approbation. And

she had gone without a word.

"Do you think she has gone to France?" He knew his voice sounded stiff

and constrained.

"I hope not. She was being so useful here. Of course, the draft

law--amazing thing, the draft law! Never thought we'd come to it. But it

threw her out, in a way, of course."




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