The Call of the Red Cross

Black days passed, shuddering things of horror to Rose, when she had
time to allow her mind to dwell upon them, and her keen imagination to
picture the atrocities which the fiend was committing upon the helpless
babies of Belgium and France.

Then, in answer to the cries and lamentations from overseas, the banner
of the Red Cross was shaken forth anew, like a holy standard, and, like
crusaders of old, doctors and nurses flocked beneath it for the battle.
From her own hospital home went physicians and graduate nurses to
dedicate themselves afresh to service. The call reached and wrung the
heart of Rose. She could not go as a nurse, she knew; yet the need was
so great that it seemed to her that somehow she must answer; but she
resolutely closed her ears to it and fixed her eyes the more steadfastly
upon the rocky, shut-in path which she had set forth to climb.

It was a raw, bleak evening in late November when she made her final
resolve. At noon Donald had met her in one of the corridors and stopped
to speak with her. His face, she thought afterwards, had appeared
unusually serious and determined, even for him, as he said, "This is
your afternoon and evening off duty, isn't it, Rose? I want to talk with
you, if you haven't made any other plans."

As it chanced, she had been eagerly anticipating a visit to the theatre
with Miss Merriman, who was home for a few days between cases; but
something about his manner caused her to tell a white lie without
hesitation.