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.
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