What right had she to lie there shuddering at destiny when lives--his life--might be trembling in the balance?
She could at least serve, and, whatever else of weakness may have lurked in Beth Norvell, there was no germ of cowardice.

Clearer and more clear she perceived duty, until it overshadowed love and brought her upon her feet in active preparation, in burning desire for action.
Standing before the little mirror, she wondered dimly at those dark circles beneath her eyes, the unusually sharp lines visible at the corners of her mouth.

She felt hot, feverish, and in hope of thus relieving the painful throbbing of her temples she buried her face in the bowl of cool water.

Rapidly, almost carelessly, she gathered up her dishevelled locks, fastening them in some simple, yet secure fashion back out of the way.

From the open trunk standing against the wall, she caught up a plain, soft hat, one she had used in character upon the stage, and drew it down firmly over the mass of soft hair, never noting how coquettishly the wide brim swept up in front, or what witchery of archness it gave to her dark eyes.