"Because you are a woman, and because you feel more, the greater sacrifice is asked of you," was the quiet answer. "In this life there is always some one who must bring the sacrifice, and it is always the one who feels deepest and loves most. That is why it is ordained that women should suffer for their children, and often for their husbands. It seems at first sight unjust. It is really the greatest compliment which God and Nature can pay us." "And I am unworthy of that compliment?" Nora demanded hotly. "You will go back, Nora." "To my husband? Never." For the first time she spoke with real conviction, with an almost despairing conviction, "That is impossible. You do not know how impossible. Even if I would, Wolff would not take me back. He said so himself. I had to choose once and for all, and I have chosen. And, besides, there are the others—the people I know; stiff, straitlaced people who would never understand and never forgive." "Nevertheless, when the war is over you will go back," Mrs. Ingestre persisted steadily. "You will go back and bravely take up the work which lies before you—the work of reconciliation. You will fight the unhappy influence of the narrow-hearted fools and braggarts who have helped to bring catastrophe in your life and upon whole nations. You will retain your independence, your strength, your character; but in opening your heart to the goodness and strength in others you will bind them to you as no weak surrender could ever have done; you will win a greater, nobler victory than any victory won with the blood of men; you will build a bridge between Wolff’s heart and yours; you will help build the bridge between the country of your birth and the country of your adoption!" Her voice rang triumphant, prophetic. For one brief moment Mrs. Ingestre, dying though she was, called back her lost youth and rose to the heights of youth’s hope and faith. Nora took a deep breath. "What can I do—a woman against thousands?" she demanded. "Your best—your duty." "I have tried, and I have failed. I have no power to build the bridge——" Her mother’s eyes rested on her face, and in their depths there was a serene confidence. "God has given you the power," she said gently. "God has given you an instrument which cannot fail you. My Nora"—her voice failed her an instant—"a little child shall lead them"—she finished from afar off. Nora covered her face with her hands. "It is too late," she said huskily. "Not even that can help me now." Her mother made no answer. She lay still with closed eyes, and a peaceful smile smoothed away the lines of pain from the sweet mouth. She was so quiet and the smile was so unchanging, so full of an almost unearthly wisdom, that every protest died in Nora’s heart. She crept nearer to the bedside, awe-struck and afraid, as though already the curtain had fallen which was to divide them in the future life. "Mother!" she whispered faintly.