"We esteem him a coward," replied Horace.
"And if he takes part with the enemy?"
"He has the name, and deserves the fate of a traitor."
"And what shall we call those who, enlisted from infancy to oppose sin and Satan, are content to remain mere spectators of the strife, or who actually join the ranks of the foe?"
"Nine-tenths of the Christian world do so," observed Horace, "and certainly look upon themselves neither as cowards nor traitors. Few consider that there is any battle to be fought at all. Men follow their own pleasure, do their own will, and doubt not but that all will be well in the end."
"You do not think so?" said Raphael.
Horace knew not what to reply. He was too conscious that he had been describing his own state of mind, and felt that if a brave, earnest, self-sacrificing spirit of devotion be necessary to the Christian soldier, he was unworthy of the name. Willing to change the conversation, he said abruptly:
"You must be indeed as a sentinel in a hostile land; I wonder how you can keep your ground at all in this the very stronghold of the enemy."
"I can but grasp my sword, and look to my Leader," said Raphael. "I am sometimes well-nigh ready to give up all in despair, but He can keep me from falling."
"I marvel why you remain here," began Horace, when he was prevented from concluding his sentence by the sound of a shrill whistle from the wood, and Raphael, hastily rising, thrust his Testament into his bosom.