The New Magdalen

Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to take his

place as director-general of the ambulance without any further delay. He

conducted Grace to a chair, and placed both her hands on his heart this

time, to reconcile her to the misfortune of his absence. "Wait here till

I return for you," he whispered. "Fear nothing, my charming friend.

Say to yourself, 'Surville is the soul of honor! Surville is devoted to

me!'" He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room,

and cast one look of unutterable homage at his charming friend. "A

_bientot!_" he cried, and kissed his hand and disappeared.

As the canvas screen fell over him the sharp report of the rifle-firing

was suddenly and grandly dominated by the roar of cannon. The instant

after a shell exploded in the garden outside, within a few yards of the

window.

Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror. Mercy, without losing

her self-possession, advanced to the window and looked out.

"The moon has risen," she said. "The Germans are shelling the village."

Grace rose, and ran to her for protection.

"Take me away!" she cried. "We shall be killed if we stay here." She

stopped, looking in astonishment at the tall black figure of the nurse,

standing immovably by the window. "Are you made of iron?" she exclaimed.

"Will nothing frighten you?"

Mercy smiled sadly. "Why should I be afraid of losing my life?" she

answered. "I have nothing worth living for!"

The roar of the cannon shook the cottage for the second time. A second

shell exploded in the courtyard, on the opposite side of the building.

Bewildered by the noise, panic-stricken as the danger from the shells

threatened the cottage more and more nearly, Grace threw her arms round

the nurse, and clung, in the abject familiarity of terror, to the woman

whose hand she had shrunk from touching not five minutes since. "Where

is it safest?" she cried. "Where can I hide myself?"

"How can I tell where the next shell will fall?" Mercy answered,

quietly.

The steady composure of the one woman seemed to madden the other.

Releasing the nurse, Grace looked wildly round for a way of escape from

the cottage. Making first for the kitchen, she was driven back by the

clamor and confusion attending the removal of those among the wounded

who were strong enough to be placed in the wagon. A second look round

showed her the door leading into the yard. She rushed to it with a cry

of relief. She had just laid her hand on the lock when the third report

of cannon burst over the place.

Starting back a step, Grace lifted her hands mechanically to her

ears. At the same moment the third shell burst through the roof of the

cottage, and exploded in the room, just inside the door. Mercy sprang

forward, unhurt, from her place at the window. The burning fragments of

the shell were already firing the dry wooden floor, and in the midst

of them, dimly seen through the smoke, lay the insensible body of her

companion in the room. Even at that dreadful moment the nurse's presence

of mind did not fail her. Hurrying back to the place that she had just

left, near which she had already noticed the miller's empty sacks lying

in a heap, she seized two of them, and, throwing them on the smoldering

floor, trampled out the fire. That done, she knelt by the senseless

woman, and lifted her head.