man of warfare as he sat there,
his face, which was so finely sensitive as sometimes to be called cold,
saddened with the light of dreams which know themselves for dreams alone.

That very first night, night when she had been so shy, he had felt in
her that which he called the real thing, which he knew for the great
thing, which had been, for him, the thing unattainable. And with all
her timidity, aloofness, elusiveness, he had felt an inexplicable
nearness to her.

He had found out something about the conditions girls had to meet. His
face hardened, then tightened with pain in the thought of those being the
conditions Ann was meeting. He did not believe those conditions would go
on many days longer if every man had to see them in relation to some one
he cared for. "The poor ye have always with you" might then prove less
authoritative--less satisfying--as the final word.

And the other conditions--things his sort stood for--Darrett--the whole
story--He had come to loathe the words chivalry and honor and all the
rest of the empty terms that resounded so glibly against false standards.

Something was wrong with the world and he could not see that improving a
rifle was going to go very far toward setting it right.

And there was springing up within him, even in his loneliness and gloom,
a passion to be doing something that would help set it right.

An older officer with whom he had been talking that day had spoken
lovingly of his father, under whom he had served; spoken of his hardihood
and integrity, his manliness and soldierliness. As he thought of it now
it seemed to him that just because he _was_ his father's son--had in him
the blood of the soldier--he should help fight the real battles of the
day--the long stern battles of peace.

His father had served, faithfully and well. He, too, would like to serve.
But yesterday's needs were not to-day's needs, nor were the methods of
yesterday desirable, even possible, for to-day. What could be farther
from serving one's own day than rendering to it the dead forms of what
had been the real service to a day gone by?

There came a curious thought that to give up the things of war might be
the only way to save the things that war had left him. That perhaps he
could only transmit his heritage by recasting the form of giving.

Looking out across the miles of the city's roofs, hearing the rumble of
the city as it came faintly up to him, watching the people hurrying to
and fr