antment of suddenly discovered knowledge.

"It is the oldest of all laws," she said. "It was born perfect. It is
yours if you accept it. And this law is the Law of Love."

A peasant muttered: "One gives where one loves."

The girl turned swiftly: "That is the soul of the Law!" she cried, "to
give! Is there any other happiness, Tavarishi? Is there any other
peace? Is there need of any other law?

"I tell you that the Law of Love slays greed! And when greed dies, war
dies. And hunger, and misery die, too!

"Of what use is any government and its lesser laws and customs, unless
it is itself governed by that paramount Law?

"Of what avail are your religions, your churches, your priests, your
saints, relics, ikons--all your candles and observances--unless
dominated by that Law?

"Of what use is your God unless that Law of Love also governs Him?"

She stood gazing at the firelit faces, the virginal half-smile on her
lips.

A peasant broke the silence: "Is she a new saint, then?" he said
distinctly.

A Cossack nodded to her, grinning respectfully:

"We always like your sermons, little novice," he said. And, to the
others: "Nobody wishes to deny what she says is quite true"--he
scratched his head, still grinning--"only--while there are Kurds in
the world----"

"And Bolsheviki!" shouted another.

"True! And Turks! God bless us, Tavarishi," he added with a wry face,
"it takes a stronger stomach to love these beasts than is mine----"

In the sudden shout of laughter the girl, Palla, looked around at her
comrade, Ilse.

"Until each accepts the Law of Love," said the Swedish girl-soldier,
laughing, "it can not be a law."

"I have accepted it," said Palla gaily; but her childishly lovely
mouth was working, and she clenched her hands in her sleeves to
control the tremor.

Silent, the smile still stamped on her tremulous lips, she stood for a
few moments, fighting back the deep emotions enveloping her in surging
fire--the same ardent and mystic emotions which once had consumed her
at the altar's foot, where she had knelt, a novice, dreaming of
beatitudes ineffable.

If that vision, for her, was ended--its substance but the shadow of a
dream--the passion that created it, the fire that purified it, the
ardent heart that needed love--love sacred, love unalloyed--needed
love still, burned for it, yearning to give.

* * * * *

As she lifted her head and looked around her wi