He took off his goggles. "Do my eyes look different? Are they changed or—dim?"
"They are as bright as stars," and he sighed with relief.
"And now it was young Michel who whispered, 'God is good! In a moment we shall see his face, and we shall say to him, "We fought, but there is no hatred in our hearts. We cannot hate—our brothers——"'"
That was the end.
"It is a great book," Anne told him solemnly. "It will be a great success."
He seemed to shrink and grow small in his chair. "It will come—too late."
She looked up and saw the mood that was upon him. "Oh, you must not—not that," she said, hurriedly; "if you give up now it will be a losing fight."
"Don't you suppose that I would fight if I felt that I could win? But what can a man do with a thing like this that is dragging him down to darkness?"
"You mustn't be discouraged. Dr. Brooks says that it isn't—inevitable. You know that he said that, and that the specialist said it."