"Whether it be in peace or in war, surely only the fittest can win," she said thoughtfully. "It will not be the richest, or the best-armed nation, but the best, the worthiest. Pray God we may prove ourselves to be that nation!" "Pray God!" he echoed thoughtfully. For a minute they walked on in the gathering mist without speaking. Both were plunged in sad reflection, but in Nora’s heart there had dawned a new relief, a new peace. Arnold had spoken without arrogance, with a proud humility, with a respect and admiration for those whom he had hitherto despised. She did not know what had brought about the change, but it comforted her, it brought her nearer to him; in some strange way it revived all her old love for England and her people. The squire’s swaggering, her brother’s calumnies had maddened her. She discovered dignity and candour in Arnold’s words, and her aching heart filled with gratitude. Suddenly he stopped short and faced her. She saw then that a new thought had arisen in his mind. "Nora, have you heard from your husband?" he demanded. She shook her head and went on walking, quickly, almost nervously. "No." "Are you going to return to him—soon?" "You know it is impossible that I should ever return," she answered. "In his eyes, at least, I have no excuse for what I did—none. He would never forgive me." "Not if he loved you?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Even if he did—even if he forgave me, I could not return. I left him because I had ceased to love him, because the distance that separated us was too great. I did not understand his way of life, nor he mine. He said things I shall never forgive." "Not even if you loved him?" "I do not love him!" she returned passionately. "He forfeited my love. He did not care enough to fight for it. How should I grow to love him again?" Arnold drove his stick into the soft turf. His face was white and deeply troubled.