Not a tear!... And only that sweet smile like an angel's!...
Oh, Lenore, what a girl you are!"

"Say good-by--and go," she faltered. Another moment would see her
weaken.

"Yes, I must hurry." His voice was a whisper--almost gone. He drew a
deep breath. "Lenore--my promised wife--my star for all the black
nights--God bless you--keep you!... Good-by!"

She spent all her strength in her embrace, all her soul in the passion
of her farewell kiss. Then she stood alone, tottering, sinking. The
swift steps, now heavy and uneven, passed out of the hall--the door
closed--the motor-car creaked and rolled away--the droning hum ceased.

For a moment of despairing shock, before the storm broke, Lenore blindly
wavered there, unable to move from the spot that had seen the beginning
and the end of her brief hour of love. Then she summoned strength to
drag herself to her room, to lock her door.

Alone! In the merciful darkness and silence and loneliness!... She need
not lie nor play false nor fool herself here. She had let him go!
Inconceivable and monstrous truth! For what?... It was not now with her,
that deceiving spirit which had made her brave. But she was a woman. She
fell upon her knees beside her bed, shuddering.

That moment was the beginning of her sacrifice, the sacrifice she shared
in common now with thousands of other women. Before she had pitied; now
she suffered. And all that was sweet, loving, noble, and motherly--all
that was womanly--rose to meet the stretch of gray future, with its
endless suspense and torturing fear, its face of courage for the light
of day, its despair for the lonely night, and its vague faith in the
lessons of life, its possible and sustaining and eternal hope of God.

CHAPTER XXIV

Camp--, _October_--.

Dear Sister Lenore,--It's been long since I wrote you. I'm sorry,
dear. But I haven't just been in shape to write. Have been
transferred to a training-camp not far from New York. I don't like
it. The air is raw, penetrating, different from our high mountain
air in the West. So many gray, gloomy days! And wet--why you never
saw a rain in Washington! Fine bunch of boys, though. We get up in
the morning at 4:30. Sweep the streets of the camp! I'm glad to get
up and sweep, for I'm near frozen long before daylight. Yesterday I
peeled potatoes till my hands were cramped. Nine million spuds, I
guess! I'm wearing citizen's clothes--too thin, by gos