Just as Nona and Barbara had anticipated, Mildred Thornton rode away
with her two patients in one of the first motor ambulances that
hurriedly withdrew from the field hospital to remove the wounded from
the scene of danger. But by another strange mischance Eugenia was left
behind.
She had, of course, continued to assist with the hospital work so
long as there was anything for her to do. However, she had previously
insisted that she be allowed to depart in one of the last of the motor
vans. For the truth is she was unwilling to desert the neighborhood
until Nona and Barbara, having returned from the farmhouse, were able
to go along with her.
So during the last quarter of an hour, when only the tents were left
to be piled upon the last trucks, Eugenia, having no more duties to
perform, wandered a short distance away. She only went about an eighth
of a mile along the path that led in the direction of the farmhouse
and there sat down under a tree to wait for the other two girls and to
watch for a prearranged signal.
Until she began to rest Eugenia really had no idea of how tired she
was. She had been up and at work since five o’clock that morning under
conditions that would have exhausted the strongest person in the world.
Now there were deafening noises reverberating all about her, while
over her head hung a heavy pall of smoke, sometimes darkening the
atmosphere, but now and then lifting enough to permit a shaft of light
from the November sun to shine through.
At present the firing suggested that the fighting was still at some
distance away, nevertheless the girl realized that the battle must be
drawing nearer and nearer, for already a portion of the retreating
French army had passed within sight of the disbanded hospital.
Eugenia was not conscious of being as greatly depressed by the French
defeat as the other three American Red Cross girls had been. Her chief
thought was the appalling increase of the wounded that this day’s
battle must have caused. At this moment there must be hundreds, perhaps
thousands of boys and men lying wounded and dying in the fields and
trenches with no one to bring them aid.
“If only one could do _more_ to help!” the girl murmured, clasping her
hands wearily together in her lap, but at the same time keeping her
eyes fixed upon the path ahead.
“Why in the world don’t those children come on?” she next asked
impatiently. “Certainly they should not have been trusted to undertake
our packing. I don’t doubt they are putting our new Paris clothes into
the bags!”
As she made this speech, believing that she heard some one approaching,
Eugenia half rose. Then the next instant she was up and standing with
her back braced against the tree, upon which she had been previously
resting. For bounding toward her, with his tongue hanging out and his
head lolling from side to side, was the dog belonging to Captain Henri
Castaigne.
After her past experience it was impossible for Eugenia not to feel
nervous, for the silver-gray brute was of enormous size and strength.
Yet when the dog reached her side, for the second time he crouched down
at Eugenia’s feet. This time, however, instead of hanging _down_ his
head, he turned his gray-brown eyes upward upon the girl’s with such a
depth of entreaty that, without knowing why, she was moved.
“It is all right, Duke, I forgive you all the past, even if I have not
forgiven your master!” she exclaimed, speaking in a friendly tone,
although scorning to use the dog’s French name. “But do run home now to
your mistress. For this, I trust, is a final farewell between us, as we
shall probably never meet again.”
Even though she spoke thus lightly, Eugenia was conscious that there
might be a possible tragedy in the fact that Duke could not return to
his master. Perhaps Captain Castaigne was even now among the missing.
However, the great Dane gave no sign of having heard Eugenia’s
command, but instead gave her another look of profound appeal. When
she showed no indication of having understood his meaning, he got up
and caught her dress firmly between his teeth. Then not ungently but
authoritatively he began dragging her along with him.
For the first moment Eugenia was too surprised to make any special
resistance. The next she called out angrily to the dog to let go; and
then, finding he had no idea of obeying her, tore her coat from between
his clenched teeth.
Duke’s answer was to gaze at her reproachfully and then to gather a
larger portion of her clothing in his mouth and start off faster the
second time, with the girl obliged to follow.
Naturally Eugenia was angry. This objectionable dog appeared designed
by fate to be a nuisance to her. Yet she was unable to make up her mind
what to do. She could tear herself away again with another disastrous
result to her clothing; besides, the dog would doubtless seize hold
on her again. And to struggle with the enormous creature could only
bring misfortune upon herself, since there was no doubt of Duke’s
determination.
So for twenty yards or more Eugenia moved along without further
protest, then she concluded to call and summon some one to her
assistance. No one chanced to be in sight, but there were, of course,
several of the hospital workers not far away, so that in case Duke
turned dangerous a shot would quickly put an end to him.
With this thought in mind Eugenia again looked at the dog. He was such
a magnificent creature it would be a tragedy to kill him. Besides, was
she not so sick at heart at all the unnecessary waste of death that she
would not voluntarily destroy the tiniest spark of life?
Something of this feeling must have at this instant communicated itself
to Duke’s intelligence, for suddenly and of his own accord he released
Eugenia’s dress. But instead of leaving her he walked on a few steps
further, stopped, turned around again and made a second appeal and
then went slowly on a few feet more.
Afterwards Eugenia decided that she must have been abnormally dull at
this time. But then her attention had been so concentrated upon the
hope of Barbara’s and Nona’s immediate return. For it was not until
Duke had made his third demand that his purpose finally occurred to
her. Of course, he wished her to go with him to find some lost place or
person.
Eugenia never considered the possible distance that she might be
expected to travel, for all at once she seemed curiously under the
domination of the dog’s desire. For she straightway put her hand
reassuringly upon Duke’s collar.
“It is all right, old fellow, I understand at last and will come along
with you,” she said aloud.
Then in a perfectly matter-of-fact fashion Eugenia moved along by
the dog’s side. Soon after she knew that he was leading her in the
direction of the French trenches which were directly within the firing
line. However, it did not strike her that she was facing any greater
peril than she and the field hospital staff had been enduring all day.
For one grows accustomed to war’s horrors as well as to most other
things.
Nevertheless, Eugenia flinched many times as the dog led the way,
walking now and then beside men’s bodies that did not stir either at
their approach or after their passing. Yet Red Cross nurses must learn
a certain amount of stoicism to be of real value in their work.
Once or twice Eugenia wondered if she could possibly manage to finish
the task Duke required of her in time to leave with the last of the
field hospital staff, yet it was odd how secondary this idea became.
Some other guiding force had taken possession of her at the time, for
the purpose in hand seemed the one thing supremely worth while.
Only through one’s imagination can the picture of a battlefield be
really seen, for even when the eyes behold it, the spirit must act as
its interpreter.
For nearly a year Eugenia had been nursing the soldiers in this worst
of all possible wars, yet it was not until this afternoon that she had
ever visited a battleground while the fighting was going on.
But fortunately the field to which Duke brought her was no longer a
center of the firing. The field lay just behind a trench which but a
few hours before had been a target for German artillery. However, the
trench had already been captured, so that many of the soldiers who lay
dead upon the ground had been killed during their effort to retreat.
Therefore the accident that occurred was not one which could have been
reasonably expected.
With his great head bowed Duke was treading slowly, as if he realized
the ugliness of the human tragedy surrounding them. Neither was Eugenia
thinking of herself; nevertheless, a moment later and she lay stretched
upon the battleground, as still and unconscious as any of the recumbent
figures by whom she had so lately passed.
There for hours Duke stood sentinel beside her, yet not knowing whether
he should go or remain. For while love compelled him in one direction,
his sense of honor constrained him to stay by the companion who had
fallen by his side.
Did Duke realize his own responsibility in the catastrophe, that his
honor prevailed?
The entire afternoon passed and finally evening came and yet Eugenia
did not stir. She looked an incongruous figure on the field of the
dead. For although she wore her nursing cloak it had floated open as
she fell, revealing her woman’s uniform with the cross of crimson upon
her arm.