“Maybe we’d better not talk much more,” said he after a time, long silences seeming natural now. “I told you I wasn’t through. I’ve sinned, and I’ll repent. I’m ignorant—but I’m going out now to get the rest of my education. If I am spared ... some time ... I’ve told you about the other woman up there,” he finished, anguished. “As you know—she’s dead.” “Is she dead forever, David Joslin?” asked Marcia Haddon quietly. The color in her own cheek was warm. “Yes, forever. And I’ll not speak any ill of her memory.” “Nor I of the memory of the man that’s dead,” said she slowly. “It’s life, I suppose.” “Yes, that’s life! And I want it—_all_, every bit of it, all that any man ever coveted or had—_all_ of a man’s dues in life. Yes, I want it—_all_!” He spoke now with a sudden fierceness, his gray eyes aflame in a way she had not seen, that indomitableness of the inner man now showing through as never yet she had seen him, so that she felt a thrill, a shock, as of some vast, measureless dynamo of power suddenly awaking. “All life is the same thing. It’s _all_ an education, _all_ a growing—God! Give me my chance to grow! Let me get ready, so I can deserve. I’ve been _hungry_ all my life—hungry for the world—hungry for my education—hungry for all a man’s life—love, happiness, content, power, usefulness. I’m hungry for this war, even, because I know it will teach me something or leave me at last at peace. I’ve not known peace. I’ve lived in torment—I’m in torment now. But I’ll come back bigger and better if I ever come back at all. Life—why, life——” He halted, his drawn brows turned away. “That little child that came up to me,” began Marcia Haddon hastily, as though irrelevantly—“if I could do something in the meantime—while you were out there—why, I’d be the happiest woman in all the world. Yes, I! And I’d said good-by to happiness, the same as you.” Her eyes were soft now. “If I thought that could be,” he answered slowly, “I’d know the end even of this war—I’d know the end of my own fight—I’d know that justice and good _do_ triumph over all and through all. Oh, what a dream! And for my people—the forgotten, the mocked, the helpless ones. If I—if _you_ and I——” “I’m going now,” he concluded, long later. “These are things in which I can’t give you counsel. You’re the one real woman I ever knew in all my narrow life—the one real woman. I reckon I’ve seen them all now. I wanted to tell you that, before I went away—I _had_ to tell you! If only I had lived so that you wouldn’t think so ill of me. Oh, my God! Always I do the evil thing when I would do the right I’m so impatient. It’s so hard for me to be patient now.” He rose and stood facing straight ahead. The twilight now was falling softly upon the hills. Sounds came from the street below—sounds unwelcome. “Good-by,” said he, suddenly. “I’ll love you all my life!” “Going?” Her voice seemed not yet to accept it after all. She half raised a hand. The blood of her cheek surged back.