Katherine.  He’s following his conscience.

Nurse.  And others must follow theirs, too.  No, Miss Katherine, for you to let him—­you, with your three brothers out there, and your father fair wasting away with grief.  Sufferin’ too as you’ve been these three months past.  What’ll you feel if anything happens to my three young gentlemen out there, to my dear Mr. Hubert that I nursed myself, when your precious mother couldn’t?  What would she have said —­with you in the camp of his enemies?

Katherine.  Nurse, Nurse!

Nurse.  In my paper they say he’s encouraging these heathens and makin’ the foreigners talk about us; and every day longer the war lasts, there’s our blood on this house.

Katherine. [Turning away] Nurse, I can’t—­I won’t listen.

Nurse. [Looking at her intently] Ah!  You’ll move him to leave off!  I see your heart, my dear.  But if you don’t, then go I must!

     She nods her head gravely, goes to the door of olive’s room,
     opens it gently, stands looking for a-moment, then with the
     words “My Lamb!” she goes in noiselessly and closes the door.

     Katherine turns back to her glass, puts back her hair, and
     smooths her lips and eyes.  The door from the corridor is
     opened, and HELEN’s voice says:  “Kit!  You’re not in bed?”

Katherine.  No.

     Helen too is in a wrapper, with a piece of lace thrown over her
     head.  Her face is scared and miserable, and she runs into
     KATHERINE’s arms.

Katherine.  My dear, what is it?

Helen.  I’ve seen—­a vision!

Katherine.  Hssh!  You’ll wake Olive!

Helen. [Staring before her] I’d just fallen asleep, and I saw a plain that seemed to run into the sky—­like—­that fog.  And on it there were—­dark things.  One grew into a body without a head, and a gun by its side.  And one was a man sitting huddled up, nursing a wounded leg.  He had the face of Hubert’s servant, Wreford.  And then I saw—­Hubert.  His face was all dark and thin; and he had—­a wound, an awful wound here [She touches her breast].  The blood was running from it, and he kept trying to stop it—­oh!  Kit—­by kissing it [She pauses, stifled by emotion].  Then I heard Wreford laugh, and say vultures didn’t touch live bodies.  And there came a voice, from somewhere, calling out:  “Oh!  God!  I’m dying!” And Wreford began to swear at it, and I heard Hubert say:  “Don’t, Wreford; let the poor fellow be!” But the voice went on and on, moaning and crying out:  “I’ll lie here all night dying—­and then I’ll die!” And Wreford dragged himself along the ground; his face all devilish, like a man who’s going to kill.

Katherine.  My dear!  How ghastly!