"That something is the divine in you. It is God!… Oh, believe it, my husband!" cried Lenore.
Dorn somberly shook his head. "God! I did not find God out there. I cannot see God's hand in this infernal war."
"But I can. What called you so resistlessly? What made you go?"
"You know. The debt I thought I ought to pay. And duty to my country."
"Then when the debt was paid, the duty fulfilled—when you stood stricken at sight of that poor boy dying on your bayonet—what happened in your soul?"
"I don't know. But I saw the wrong of war. The wrong to him—the wrong to me! I thought of no one else. Certainly not of God!"
"If you had stayed your bayonet—if you had spared that boy, as you would have done had you seen or heard him in time—what would that have been?"
"Pity, maybe, or scorn to slay a weaker foe."
"No, no, no—I can't accept that," replied Lenore, passionately. "Can you see beyond the physical?"
"I see only that men will fight and that war will come again. Out there I learned the nature of men."