"There was a sound of the feet of men marching past, though I could not see them. Their feet were trampling the ground rhythmically, and all to the 'playing' of a bugler. I have never heard, before or since, a bugle played like that! The youth--I could picture him in my mind--blew from his bugle strangely ardent, compelling notes. It was simple, monotonous music, but there came from the bugler's own soul a magnificent courage and buoyancy; and the trampling feet responded--responded to the light springing notes, the high ardour and gay fearlessness of youth. There was such hope, such joy in the call of duty! No thought of danger, no thought of suffering! All hearts leapt to the sounds! And the bugler passed and the trampling feet! I could hear the swift, high, passionate notes die in the distance; and I knew that the flower of our youth was marching to its doom." The Warden got up from his chair, and walked away, and there was silence in the room. Then he came up to where May sat and looked down at her. "The High Gods," she said, quietly quoting his own phrase, "wanted them." He moved away again. "I have no argument for my faith," he said. "The question for us is no longer 'I must believe,' but 'Dare I believe?' The old days of certainty have gone. Inquisitions, Solemn Leagues and Covenants have gone--never to return. All the clamour of men who claim 'to know' has died down." And as he gazed at her with eyes that demanded an answer she said simply: "I am content with the silence of God." He made no answer and leaned heavily on the back of his chair. A moment later he began to walk again. "I don't think I _can_ believe that the heroic sacrifice of youth, their bitter suffering, will be mixed up indistinguishably with the cunning meanness of pleasure-seekers, with the sordid humbug of money-makers--in one vast forgotten grave. No, I can't believe that--because the world we know is a rational world." May glanced round at him as he moved about. The great dimly-lit room was full of shadows, and Middleton's face was dark, full of shadows too, shadows of mental suffering. She looked back at her work and sighed.