Brand was rescued in the nick of time by the doctor’s call to him. Elsa’s death had struck him a heavy blow when his nerves were already in rags and tatters. Now by active service in this work of humanity and healing he was getting back to normality, getting serene, and steady. I saw the change in him, revealed by the light in his eyes and by his quietude of speech, and the old sense of humour, which for a while he had lost. “I see now,” he said one night, “that it’s no use fighting against the injustice and brutality of life. I can’t remake the world, or change the things that are written in history, or alter in any big way the destiny of peoples. Stupidity, ignorance, barbarity, will continue among the multitude. All that any of us can do is to tackle some good job that lies at hand, and keep his own soul bright and fearless, if there is any chance, and use his little intellect in his little circle for kindness instead of cruelty. I find that chance here, and I am grateful.” The doctor had larger and bigger hopes, though his philosophy of life was not much different from that of Brand’s. “I want to fix up an intellectual company in this funny old universe,” he said. “I want to establish an intellectual aristocracy on international lines--the leaders of the New World. By intellectuals I don’t mean highbrow fellows with letters after their names and encyclopædias in their brain-pans. I mean men and women who by moral character, kindness of heart, freedom from narrow hatreds, tolerance of different creeds and races, and love of humanity, will unite in a free, unfettered way, without a label or a league, to get a move on towards a better system of human society. No Red Bolshevism, mind you, no heaven by way of hell, but a striving for greater justice between classes and nations, and for peace within the frontiers of Christendom, and beyond, if possible. It’s getting back to the influence of the individual, the leadership of multitudes by the power of the higher mind. I’m doing it by penny postcards to all my friends. This work of ours in Vienna is a good proof of their response. Let all the folk, with good hearts behind their brains, start writing postcards to each other, with a plea for brotherhood, charity, peace, and the New World would come.... You laugh! Yes, I talk a little nonsense. It’s not so easy as that. But see the idea? The leaders must keep in touch, and the herds will follow.” I turned to Eileen, who was listening with a smile about her lips while she pasted labels on to packets of cocoa. “What’s your philosophy?” I asked. She laughed in that deep voice of hers. “I’ve none; only the old faith, and a little hope, and a heart that’s bustin’ with love.” Brand was adding up figures in a book of accounts, and smiled across at the girl whom he had known since boyhood, when she had pulled his hair. His wounds were healing. THE END