Prologue¹
It was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7th, 1915. The Lusitania had beenstruck by two torpedoes² in succession and was sinking rapidly, while theboats were being launched with all possible speed. The women and chil-dren were being lined up awaiting their turn. Some still clung desperatelyto husbands and fathers; others clutched their children closely to theirbreasts. One girl stood alone, slightly apart from the rest. She was quiteyoung, not more than eighteen. She did not seem afraid, and her gravesteadfast eyes looked straight ahead.
“I beg your pardon.”
A man’s voice beside her made her start and turn. She had noticed thespeaker more than once amongst the first- class passengers. There hadbeen a hint of mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination.
He spoke³ to no one. If anyone spoke to him he was quick to rebuff theoverture. Also he had a nervous way of looking over his shoulder with aswift, suspicious glance.
She noticed now that he was greatly agitated⁴. There were beads⁵ of per-spiration 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 tomeet death!
“Yes?” Her grave eyes met his inquiringly.
He stood looking at her with a kind of desperate irresolution⁶.
“It must be!” he muttered to himself. “Yes—it is the only way.” Thenaloud he said abruptly⁷: “You are an American?”
“Yes.”
“A patriotic⁸ 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 atstake. But I’ve got to trust someone—and it must be a woman.”

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