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PROLOGUE
IT was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915. The Lusitania had been struck by
two torpedoes in succession and was sinking rapidly, while the boats were being
launched with all possible speed. The women and children were being lined up
awaiting their turn. Some still clung desperately to husbands and fathers; others
clutched their children closely to their breasts. One girl stood alone, slightly apart
from the rest. She was quite young, not more than eighteen. She did not seem
afraid, and her grave, steadfast eyes looked straight ahead.
"
I beg your pardon."
A man's voice beside her made her start and turn. She had noticed the speaker
more than once amongst the first-class passengers. There had been a hint of
mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination. He spoke to no one. If
anyone spoke to him he was quick to rebuff the overture. Also he had a nervous
way of looking over his shoulder with a swift, suspicious glance.
She noticed now that he was greatly agitated. There were beads of perspiration on
his brow. He was evidently in a state of overmastering fear. And yet he did not
strike her as the kind of man who would be afraid to meet death!
"Yes?" Her grave eyes met his inquiringly.
He stood looking at her with a kind of desperate irresolution.
"It must be!" he muttered to himself. "Yes--it is the only way." Then aloud he said
abruptly: "You are an American?"
"Yes."
"A patriotic one?"
The girl flushed.
"
I guess you've no right to ask such a thing! Of course I am!"
"
Don't be offended. You wouldn't be if you knew how much there was at stake.
But I've got to trust some one--and it must be a woman."
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