"We'll let Peter--wait. We'll take the boy--first." Dumfounded, the chief stared for the fraction of a moment; then he shook her. "For God's sake, wake up, Leerie! You've gone through so much, your thinking isn't just clear. Get rational, girl. You'd be deliberately killing your man, to leave him now. You don't realize his condition, or you wouldn't be wasting time this way. By the time we finish with the first there'll be no chance for the second; they're both bleeding in a dozen places. Here, boys! Help me over with Mr. Brooks." But Sheila put out a quick hand and held them back. "And if I put Peter first I shall be deliberately killing the other. Don't you see? I can't do it--Peter wouldn't wish it--it would mean--Boys, carry over the other. The chief's going to save a lad for France." There was no denying her. She stood guard over Peter's stretcher until the other had been lifted and carried away. Grimly the surgeon followed, and Sheila turned to the two who were still holding the stretcher. "Would you mind putting him down there? Now, will you leave us just a minute?" She spoke to the American, but the German must have understood, for he led the way to the church door and stood with his back to her. Even the comfort of staying with Peter to the last was denied her. The chief had said it must be team-work, the best. She mustn't waste many seconds. She thought of the many she had helped to die, the courage a warm grip of the hand had given, the healing strength in a smile, and her heart cringed before this last sacrifice of giving Peter over to a desolate, prayerless death. Hardly breathing, she slipped down and laid her cheek to his bearded one. She could offer one prayer, that he need never wake to know. Kneeling there, his last words came back to her almost in mockery: "Don't bungle your instincts. I'd trust them next to God's own." Dear God, if she only could bungle them! If only they had not wrenched from her this torturing, ghastly choice! She knew the meaning now of the strangeness that had met her as she first crossed the threshold of the little church. She knew why the chorus of mothers had been sung so deep into her heart. The greatest moment of her life had come--a terrible, soul-rending moment. And beyond it lay nothing. She choked out an incoherent, futile prayer into the dulled ears--and left him. This--this was her farewell to Peter Brooks--her man--her man for all time. The American orderly had disappeared. Sheila stumbled over to the door and gripped the sleeve of the German. "If he opens his eyes"--she opened and shut her own eyes in pantomime--"come for me, quick. Verstehen?" The German nodded.