"Will it herald death or life
to our cause?"
Mr. Meredith preached that morning from the text, "He that endureth to
the end shall be saved," and hope and confidence rang through his
inspiring sentences. Rilla, looking up at the memorial tablet on the
wall above their pew, "sacred to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe,"
felt herself lifted out of her dread and filled anew with courage.
Walter could not have laid down his life for naught. His had been the
gift of prophetic vision and he had foreseen victory. She would cling to
that belief--the line would hold.
In this renewed mood she walked home from church almost gaily. The
others, too, were hopeful, and all went smiling into Ingleside. There
was no one in the living-room, save Jims, who had fallen asleep on the
sofa, and Doc, who sat "hushed in grim repose" on the hearth-rug,
looking very Hydeish indeed. No one was in the dining-room either--and,
stranger still, no dinner was on the table, which was not even set.
Where was Susan?
"Can she have taken ill?" exclaimed Mrs. Blythe anxiously. "I thought it
strange that she did not want to go to church this morning."
The kitchen door opened and Susan appeared on the threshold with such a
ghastly face that Mrs. Blythe cried out in sudden panic.
"Susan, what is it?"
"The British line is broken and the German shells are falling on Paris,"
said Susan dully.
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