rm. Would not she, as well as he,
have known that it was a badge of cowardice, and that he wore a heart as
white?

And afterwards, would she have loved the living man, breathing in
air heavy with the hearts' life of his brothers and friends, as she
worshiped the dead man, whose cold body rested forever down deep in
mother earth's brown, soft bosom, but whose very life of life swelled
the great throng of heroes and martyrs who have closed their own eyes
upon life's pictures, that those pictures might shine clearer and
brighter to other eyes?

If the man had yielded, and the picture showed him thus, would we see
the Huguenot lovers adorning half the houses of the land? Most often
they are found in that particular corner of the home belonging to some
maiden--that sacred room of her own, where she prays her prayers, and
lives her most secret life. I have often wondered at the many girls who
hang that especial picture over their fire-places. It must be a case of
unconscious ideality. They realize that love must be so subject to honor
that heart-strings would break for the sake of that honor, if need be,
even though the harmonious love-song of two hearts is hushed; and what
is the love-song of any two beings compared to a life-song of honor
for the world--those wonderful life-songs that we all know? One of them
sings itself so loudly to me now, over ages of romance and history, that
I must let my simple story wait and give way to it for a minute.

There was a man who lived once. If God did not create him, Homer did.
The Oracle told him that the first man who put foot on the Trojan shores
would die. He knew this before he started on his voyage for Greece. He
left a wife and home behind him, whom he dearly loved. I wonder if he
used to pace the deck of the rich barge, and listen to the men
chatting around him, and smile as they planned of returning, proud and
victorious, to their homes and their wives.

All the while under his smile he knew he was to die, not in the glory
of fight, although his sword swung sharp and bright at his side, in any
thrilling fashion, to be sung of and wept of by his fellows.

All the while the heavy barge sailed on, and at last land came in sight.
I wonder if his heart was full when he saw it? Did he remember his wife
and his home? Did he feel his life strong within him, and eager as a
battle-horse, as he neared the land where wars were to be fought, and
glories won?

All the while his heart w