The creative force is never wasted. Man and woman, in love or lust, are never alone--rather startling, but sooner or later to be accepted. The point of the triangle is either turned downward or upward. The creative force feeds either the abominations of the underworld, or is used in its designed order and loveliness as a point of inception for soul into form.... The mother-nature of the New Race must be quickened by the ideal of the coming of a World-teacher, of development a cycle ahead of this race. Women must partake of this dream in their maternities. It is the light of such an advent, shining upon the upturned face of the mother, that touches the brow of the child with light. Absolutely the concept of the new Democracy demands the coming of a great Unifier--a focal point for all world movements and interests and aspirations. The story of a Master's coming is the ultimate Romance--the finest story in the world--for that in itself is the story of Regeneration. The work of this particular volume seems to be ended. Much that is prepared need not be used. Right here is the breathing-space that always comes in a life or a book.... _Not to stay_.... Some of our boys are off to the trenches; others may go. Part of the original group has been unable yet to follow the centre to the West. Our good Gobind[20] who belonged to the pith of things, arose from one breakfast and went off to join the cavalry. There's a group in Chicago that we see all too little of--a diffusion time truly, but only to make more certain the time of integration again. [20] Ben Poteat. * * * * * There is one who came, changing all. We thought we knew much about the world. We thought mainly that things were settled for us. It was not words she brought, but a subtler quickening. I cannot tell it exactly. There was a day in which I was bored, not satisfied, and another when I was a child again--breathless, questing, listening for some one to tell me stories of another and better country. All that I had done and been and lived was diminished; more, all behind was utterly done, leaving scarcely any criteria for that which was to be.... No inland lake would do after that; we wanted a continental headland, the sweep of the earth and sky--sidereal time, sidereal space. We could only tolerate the quest of the Impossible after she came. ... She came and wrote her book through the summer days and then she went away.... Somehow after that we knew what rains and sunlight meant--what all nature was saying and doing. At least, we knew better.... _Not to stay._ We could not follow continually, but at last out of loneliness, the big new laughing wonder of life came to us ... and when we told her, she seemed to have known all the time....