The Puritan soldier passed through the garden without noticing the sleeping loveliness or reflecting on the desolation it soon would be: his mind was solely on his work, on what he had done, on what he must do—occupied with all the doubts and terrors of the struggle between the uplifted spirit and the still passionate human nature.
Outwardly he never faltered or hesitated, but inwardly all was often black and awful: a thousand perplexities assailed his strong understanding, a thousand different emotions warred in his warm and ardent heart.
Usually his spiritual enthusiasm went hand in hand with his physical courage and capacity, with his earthly feelings and hopes; but sometimes these jarred with each other, and then the old melancholy rolled over his soul.
When he had walked unheeding as far as the paling and was stopped there, by lack of a gate, he folded his arms on the fence and gazed ahead of him into the sweet night.
He was fatigued, yet far from the thought of sleep; the excitement of the battle and the pursuit, the thrill of victory were still with him....
And yet ... and yet ... the dead face of Sir William Pawlet and the no less terrible countenance of his wife came before the soldier's vision.... And how many thousands of these were there not now in England, how many homes deserted like this one, how many fugitives flying beyond seas, how many comely corpses being tumbled into the trenches dug among the rabbit burrows on Broad Moor? So many that the rolling hillocks would be all great graves, and for long years no man would be able to turn the earth there with a plough but he would disturb the mouldering dead.
What if he had to answer for this blood? Was not he the man who had always urged war—been the soul and inspiration of the conflict, so that the malignants turned and cursed him, even as Lady Pawlet had this very evening, believing him to be the foremost of their enemies?
"Lord God," he cried out, grasping the fence with his strong hands, "I do not fight for gain or power, for pride or hot blood, but for Thy service, as Thou knowest! What am I but a worm in Thy sight, yet Thou hast given me success through Thy lovely mercy and made me a fear unto them who defy Thee! Hast Thou not declared that Thine enemies shall be scattered like the dust, and they who dwell in the wilderness kneel before Thee? Bring us that time, O Lord, bring Thy promised peace and scatter those who delight in war! For Thou hast said, 'I will bring My people again as I did from Basan, Mine own will I bring again, as I did sometime from the deep of the sea!'"
These words, which he spoke out loudly and in a strong voice, were wafted strangely over the sleeping copse, where even the nightingale was silent now; the sound of them seemed to be blown back again and to echo in his soul strongly even after his lips were silent.