This weak, quaking body of his housed his tainted blood and the emotions of his heart, but it could not control his mind, his will.

Beat by beat the helpless fury in him subsided, and then he fell back and lay still for a long time, eyes shut, relaxed and still.
A hound bayed mournfully; the insects chirped low, incessantly; the night wind rustled the silken heads of wheat.
After a while the young man sat up and looked at the heavens, at the twinkling white stars, and then away across the shadows of round hills in the dusk.

How lonely, sad, intelligible, and yet mystic the night and the scene! What came to him then was revealing, uplifting--a source of strength to go on.

He was not to blame for what had happened; he could not change the future.

He had a choice between playing the part of a man or that of a coward, and he had to choose the former.