w and the suffering that I see all round me. I want to get rid of
it right away, now. I could be patient for myself, but not for others."

The little old lady straightened herself. There came a hardening of the
thin, firm mouth.

"And those that have gone before?" she demanded. "Those that have won
the ground from where we are fighting. Had they no need of patience? Was
the cry never wrung from their lips: 'How long, oh Lord, how long?' Is
it for us to lay aside the sword that they bequeath us because we cannot
hope any more than they to see the far-off victory? Fifty years I have
fought, and what, a few years hence, will my closing eyes still see but
the banners of the foe still waving, fresh armies pouring to his
standard?"

She flung back her head and the grim mouth broke into a smile.

"But I've won," she said. "I'm dying further forward. I've helped
advance the line."

She put out her hands and drew Joan to her.

"Let me think of you," she said, "as taking my place, pushing the
outposts a little further on."

Joan did not meet Hilda again till the child had grown into a
woman--practically speaking. She had always been years older than her
age. It was at a reception given in the Foreign Office. Joan's dress
had been trodden on and torn. She had struggled out of the crowd into an
empty room, and was examining the damage somewhat ruefully, when she
heard a voice behind her, proffering help. It was a hard, cold voice,
that yet sounded familiar, and she turned.

There was no forgetting those deep, burning eyes, though the face had
changed. The thin red lips still remained its one touch of colour; but
the unhealthy whiteness of the skin had given place to a delicate pallor;
and the features that had been indistinct had shaped themselves in fine,
firm lines. It was a beautiful, arresting face, marred only by the
sullen callousness of the dark, clouded eyes.

Joan was glad of the assistance. Hilda produced pins.

"I always come prepared to these scrimmages," she explained. "I've got
some Hazeline in my bag. They haven't kicked you, have they?"

"No," laughed Joan. "At least, I don't think so."

"They do sometimes," answered Hilda, "if you happen to be in the way,
near the feeding troughs. If they'd only put all the refreshments into
one room, one could avoid it. But they will scatter them about so that
one never knows for certain whether one is in the danger zone or not. I
hate a mob."