"Oh, I cannot tell. Something dreadful has happened. They were not in the room when I went in. I supposed they had gone out to learn what was the trouble, and ran into the crowd to seek them. Nobody knew. Your father and uncle, and Pipe, and all the rest were there, but no Faith--no Sophia. They knew nothing of them. They are searching for them now. They fear that the Pixies have carried them off. Oh, Agatha! what shall we do?" Ah, Agatha, do you remember the Golden Mottoes now! Will she remember, think you? Her frame shook with emotion; her hands were cold; beads of moisture gathered on her pale forehead. She spoke in a dreamy way, as though talking to herself: "Carried off by the Pixies? Gone? Cousin Faith gone? Sophia gone?" Then she started as from a trance. There was a tremor in her voice, but she spoke quietly, as one who had struggled with her own heart and got the victory. "Grace, God help them! But our duty lies here. There is no time now for grief. There is no call on us to take part in the work and peril of delivering our sister Nurses. Others will do it better than we. Our duty is plain. And is just before us. Mine is here. Grace, dear, yours is there!" She pointed first to the couch at which she had been kneeling, then to one across the aisle, and quietly turning from her companion, knelt down again by the wounded Brownie, and took up the dropped thread of her labor of love. When she lifted her eyes Grace was at her post. Noble conquerors! These are the victories of those who be better than they who take a city. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AB: Appendix, Note A.] CHAPTER XI. ON THE TRAIL. Meanwhile, the light of fox-fire and fire-fly lanterns was glancing everywhere through camp and field, showing where eager searchers were scattered looking for the lost Nurses. Rodney was well nigh frantic with grief, and ran here and there among the tents calling the name of his daughter. Only the echo of his voice came back to him out of the night. Pipe was as one paralyzed. He leaned against the wall of the tent with folded arms, and eyes fixed upon the spot where his child had lain. His mute sorrow was pitiful to see. Blythe and Sergeant True entered the tent. The Adjutant's bright face was clouded; the tall form of the Sergeant was bowed. "If one only knew!" said Blythe. "It is this terrible uncertainty that is so hard to bear. If I knew where they were, I could cut my way through legions of fiends to save them, or die trying." "Is there no trace at all?" asked True. "Not the slightest. It is only a suspicion"--he lowered his voice--"that they have been carried off by the Pixies. No one dares even name it to the Commodore and--" nodding toward the Boatswain. "But that is not reason," answered True. "It is important that we should know the worst, at once. For one, I mean to find out the truth, if I can, and face it manfully."