Later in the afternoon, as the girls hurried happily out from the white house on the corner, each one chatting merrily, intent on telling what she had done or intended to do for the war, Nathalie alone was silent, weighed down, as it were, by a strange sense of shame. Yes, she had been blindly selfish, and had failed to realize the momentousness of the great questions of the day. When she had been called upon, to give love and sympathy to her neighbors, the poor suffering masses of people over seas, she had selfishly turned her back to the call—she had failed to show herself a daughter of liberty. Why, she was not a patriot,—no, not even an American; and in the spirit, if not in the letter, she had dishonored Dick, yes, and her father, who had always been so steadfast and true to everything that was American. That night Nathalie could not sleep, but tossed restlessly from side to side, as parts of Mrs. Morrow’s speech kept forcing themselves upon her memory. And just as she had succeeded in driving them away, and also the remorseful thought that she had not given her best, that she had failed to show greatness, the song the girls had sung that afternoon, with the luring, old-time air and the soul-stirring words, flashed with vivid distinctness: “As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.” The girl sat up in bed, and in a crooning whisper hummed the whole verse through, repeating again and again, “As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.” The beauty as well as the significance of the words had made their appeal. Christ had died to make men holy; she must give of her best to make men free. She must show herself great, but what could _she_ do? But even as the question came, so flashed the answer, and Nathalie was again softly humming, “Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet; Our God is marching on.” And then suddenly a thought stamped itself upon her mind. The girl caught her breath. Yes, she had given Dick up because she had been forced to do so, but now she would make the sacrifice, give the best of herself; she would stop once and forever all useless repining. She would keep herself cheered by the thought that she was glad—she gritted her teeth determinedly—that she had Dick to give to help make people free.