There was a long silence at the end when Peter paused, and then he heard her voice, tense, suppressed.
"I could see it—you made me see it!" she gasped, almost in a whisper. "War—revolution—the people—angry—mumbling—crowding, pushing ... a crowd with guns and sticks howling at a gate ... and then a man trying to speak to them—appealing——"
Peter turned quickly at the words and faced her. Her eyes were like stars, her soul rapt in the vision his music had painted. Peter had lived that scene again and again, but how could Beth know unless he had made her see it? There was something strange—uncanny—in Beth's vision of the great drama of Peter's life. And yet she had seen. Even now her spirit was afar.
"And what happened to the man who was appealing to them?" he asked soberly.
She closed her eyes, then opened them toward him, shaking her head. "I—I don't know—it's all gone now."
"But you saw what I played. That is what happened."
"What do you mean?" She questioned, startled in her turn.
Peter shrugged himself into the present moment. "Nothing. It's just—revolution. War. War is like that, Beth," he went on quietly after a moment. "Like the motif in the bass—there is no end—the threat of it never stops—day or night. Only hell could be like it."
Beth slowly came out of her dream.
"You fought?" she asked.