orse off than we
are. Hold, hold! If are are tired, they are tired. Frequently it takes
only an ounce more of resolution to turn the tide of battle. Hold, hold!
To-morrow will tell a different story! We are going to win yet! Yes, we
are going to win!"

"It is for you to decide, Your Excellency," said Turcas, slowly and
precisely. "You take the responsibility."

"I take the responsibility. I am in command!" replied Westerling in
unflinching pose.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

And they filed out of the room, leaving him to his isolation.

A little later, when Francois came in unannounced, bringing coffee, he
found his master with face buried in hands. Westerling was on the point
of striking the valet in anger at the discovery, but instead attempted a
yawn to deceive him.

"I fell asleep; there's so little to worry about, Francois," he
explained.

"Yes, Your Excellency. There is no need of worrying as long as you are
in command," said Francois; and Westerling gulped at the coffee and
chewed at a piece of roll, which was so dry in his mouth and so hard to
swallow that he gave up the attempt.

After Marta had learned, over the telephone, from Lanstron of the
certain repulse of the Gray assault, fatigue--sheer physical fatigue
such as made soldiers drop dead in slumber on the earth, their packs
still on their backs--overcame her. Her work was done. The demands of
nature overwhelmed her faculties. She slept with a nervous twitching of
her muscles, a restless tossing of her lithe body, until hammers began
beating on her temples, beating, beating with the sound of shell
bursts, as if to warn her that punishment for her share in the killing
was to be the eternal concussion of battle in her ears. At length she
realized that the cannonading was real.

Hastening out-of-doors, as her glance swept toward the range she saw
bursts of shrapnel smoke from the guns of the Browns nearer than since
the fighting had begun on the main line, and these were directed at
bodies of infantry that were in confused retreat down the slopes, while
all traffic on the pass road was moving toward the rear. Impelled by a
new apprehension she hurried to the tunnel. Lanstron answered her
promptly in a voice that had a ring of relief and joy in place of the
tension that had characterized it since the outbreak of the war.

"Thanks to you, Marta!" he cried. "Everything goes back to you--thanks
to you came this chance to attack, and we are succeeding at