"Help me, and
you shall see the Emperor. There will be nothing too good for you."
Drusilla, after Hilda's departure, sat by her little stove and thought
it over. She divined something which did not appear on the surface.
She was glad that she had promised to plead Hilda's cause. The woman's
face haunted her.
And now the other workers who shared Drusilla's shack returned,
bringing news of many wounded and on the way. Then came the darkness
of the night, the long line of ambulances, the ghastly procession that
trailed behind.
And all through the night Drusilla sang to men who rested for a moment
on their weary way, out of the shadows came eager voices asking for
this song and that--then they would pass on, and she would throw
herself down for a little sleep, to rouse again and lift her voice,
while the other women poured the coffee.
She was hoarse in the morning, and white with fatigue, but when one of
the women said, "You can't keep this up, Drusilla, you can't stand it,"
she smiled. "They stand it is the trenches, and some of them are so
tired."
She was as fresh as paint, however, on Saturday, when she met Dr.
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