What would they think of her if she
shirked her little duty here--the humble duty of carrying the programme
through for her Red Cross? But she couldn't stay--she couldn't--yet
what was it mother had said when Jem went: "When our women fail in
courage shall our men be fearless still?" But this--this was
unbearable.
Still, she stopped half-way to the door and went back to the window.
Irene was singing now; her beautiful voice--the only real thing about
her--soared clear and sweet through the building. Rilla knew that the
girls' Fairy Drill came next. Could she go out there and play for it?
Her head was aching now--her throat was burning. Oh, why had Irene told
her just then, when telling could do no good? Irene had been very cruel.
Rilla remembered now that more than once that day she had caught her
mother looking at her with an odd expression. She had been too busy to
wonder what it meant. She understood now. Mother had known why Walter
went to town but wouldn't tell her until the concert was over. What
spirit and endurance mother had!
"I must stay here and see things through," said Rilla, clasping her cold
hands together.
The rest of the evening always seemed like a fevered dream to her. Her
body was crowded by people but her soul was alone in a torture-chamber
of its own. Yet she played steadily for the drills and gave her readings
without faltering.
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