I promised I 'd play for the next chorus -- Alice Clow has such a headache . '' She was gone -- oh , thank God , she was gone ! Rilla was alone again , staring out at the unchanged , dream-like beauty of moonlit Four Winds . Feeling was coming back to her -- a pang of agony so acute as to be almost physical seemed to rend her apart . `` I can not bear it , '' she said . And then came the awful thought that perhaps she could bear it and that there might be years of this hideous suffering before her . She must get away -- she must rush home -- she must be alone . She could not go out there and play for drills and give readings and take part in dialogues now . It would spoil half the concert ; but that did not matter -- nothing mattered . Was this she , Rilla Blythe -- this tortured thing , who had been quite happy a few minutes ago ? Outside , a quartette was singing `` We 'll never let the old flag fall '' -- the music seemed to be coming from some remote distance . Why could n't she cry , as she had cried when Jem told them he must go ? If she could cry perhaps this horrible something that seemed to have seized on her very life might let go . But no tears came ! Where were her scarf and coat ? She must get away and hide herself like an animal hurt to the death . Was it a coward 's part to run away like this ? The question came to her suddenly as if someone else had asked it . She thought of the shambles of the Flanders front -- she thought of her brother and her playmate helping to hold those fire-swept trenches . What would they think of her if she shirked her little duty here -- the humble duty of carrying the programme through for her Red Cross ?
But she could n't stay -- she could n't -- yet what was it mother had said when XXXXX went : `` When our women fail in courage shall our men be fearless still ? ''
Blythe Clow Cross Jem Rilla pang programme quartette shambles years