The roar of the battle followed as Peter staggered back alone to Judenbach. He must have traversed a mile before there was a rational activity of his . The first mental picture was that of the officers running along the works as the order for “advance as skirmishers” was given. They were inspiring the men in the name of the Little Father.  
“If only they hadn't said that,” Peter muttered pathetically.
 
Then he recalled that Kohlvihr had been lifted practically unhurt from the clay floor; that his order was carried out. The had obeyed. With all he knew, and all he had seen that day, the mystery of common men deepened. Out of it all strangely stood in his mind now the man who could not rise, but who crawled after him at a word.... These men obeyed—that was the whole story. If they were given true fathers!... Why, that was the answer!
 
Peter had come into this with all the fire of revelation. He had earned it. Blood and courage, and the stress of death, had given it to him. Yet it was worth it all. He would tell Berthe Wyndham....
 
He stopped short at the edge of the town. Never was there in his life a moment of profounder . Berthe Wyndham had told him all this before they left Warsaw—on the day that the message came from Lonegan. All he had learned to-day through such and she had told him; and she had understood it then with the same passion that he had it now.
 
Peter had only listened that day; he had lived it to-day. His heart suddenly flooded with warmth for Fallows. Fallows had been through all this—all the burning and zealotry of it, and had come forth into the coldness and austerity of service. It was very wonderful. Peter Mowbray's eyes smarted. They, and the service, had certainly the old fronts of calm and the pools of intellect. He loved the peasants now, and he knew why.... He saw what a stick he had been, but this didn't trouble him greatly. The new seeing was enough; he was changed. His emotions presently concerned the fresh so dearly bought—in the past three days... three days.
 
Not until now did he think of Samarc.... The reality had stood like a black figure at the door of his brain throughout all the walk, but it did not enter until now. No, Samarc would not come back to Judenbach. It was finished as he had intended. He had ceased to kill. Even at the last he had but used his hands, and in as righteous as ever tortured human fingers to terrible strength.... He, Mowbray, had not remained to assure himself that the last command of his friend was obeyed. This hurt him not a little.... He was in the main street... , sorrow, exaltation; now he was whipped again. He felt he had not done well at the last. A teamster yelled to him to get out of the way. Peter stepped back wearily to let a string of ambulances by.
 
Across was that grim door of t............