nameless grave, amid the myriads of the war, made a difference!
Ruth gazed into the eyes of the girl of the picture; and that girl's words, which had seemed only a commonplace of the letter, spoke articulate with living hope. "Even I may be given my great moment to grasp!"
What could she care for a name on her grave?
"You can't be thinking of so small and silly a thing for me!" the girl of the picture seemed to say. "When you and I may save perhaps a thousand, ten thousand, a million men! I left home to serve; you know my dreams, for you have dreamed them too; and, more than you, I had opportunity offered to do. And instead, almost before I had started, I was killed stupidly and, it seemed for nothing. It almost happened that—instead of serving—I was about to become the means of betrayal of our armies. But you came to save me from that; you came to do for me, and for yourself, more than either of us dreamed to do. Be sure of me, as I would be sure of you in my place! Save me, with you, for our great moment! Carry me on!"
Ruth put the picture down. "We'll go on together!" she made her compact with the soul of Cynthia Gail.
She was glad that, before acting upon her decision, she had no time to dwell upon the consequences. She must accept her rôle at once or forever forsake it. Indeed, she might already be too late. She went to her washbowl and bathed; she redid her hair, more like the girl in the picture. The dress which she had been wearing was her best for the street so she put it on again. She put on her hat and coat; she separated two hundred dollars from the
