It exercises its authority as it is needed in great sorrows, or the great crises of the other little lives. And it comes sweetest and clearest (which is proof positive that it exists) before even the others are awake, in the first dawn of day, or in the still night watches of dreams; and it fairly crushes you with the sweetness of its presence, in that quiet kingdom through which you loiter, and then pass through—that Kingdom between the Dawn and the Daylight. Suddenly we awake enough to know that we are there—_It_ is there—in another world—painfully, awfully, preciously there. Then we see how truly Me and Myself—my little body of ME may die and pass away, and be as naught—but that _I_, the still, small, silent I of Me has come from Æons to go on to Eternities; and after all the little plans of me, and the braggart, _this I will do and that I will not do of Me, this I will be and that I will not be of Me_, and after all my resolves and final decisions, and my well-laid plans of Me—_I_, the kingly _I of Me_ has only to appear, sitting silent as a burning flame in the throne room of my soul, and all My’s plans both of doing and being, and all of my soul’s resolve of purpose—the great decisions of my very soul—become as slaves to fall down before and crawl to do its bidding! ... Braxton Bragg’s perfidy had aroused me to an anger that I had never known before: I had been a quiet boy, I loved not strife, "_Oh, he won’t fight, not one of them will,_" I caught myself mimicking my grandsire, and in hot forgetfulness, I struck the big horse I was riding with a quick touch of my heel—I was almost unseated with the leap he made. "Steady, quiet, forgive me, old boy!" I cried, stroking his crest to calmness—"that only means I see things differently; that in this little world our ethics is one thing, our little religions, laws, our civilization is one thing, and God and His laws are another. One says if he smite you, turn your other cheek; the other says, if he strike you, strike back harder. One says peace—the other says it is war, even in the name of peace; one says Justice and her scales, the other says the Eagle and the Battleship. There is a time in every honest man’s life when he must fight or die. Satan, old boy, I am going to fight awhile!" I was lusty and twenty—ME. So I pondered as I rode over to see Colonel Goff. I found him in the library of The Manor, and was soon seated with him. I noticed the sterling beauty of the furniture, the trophies of the chase, both in India and America, and a full portrait of Eloise over the mantel. I had been a boy to Colonel Goff until my return. Now I imagined that my sudden change into a full-grown man had never quite come home to him, remembering me only as he had known me last.