There seemed to be a spirit beside him--the spirit of his mother or of some one who loved him and who would have him be true to an ideal, and, if needful, die for it.

No night in all his life before had been like this one.

The dreaming hills with their precious rustling wheat meant more than even a spirit could tell.

Where had the wheat come from that had seeded these fields?
Whence the first and original seeds, and where were the sowers?
Back in the ages! The stars, the night, the dark blue of heaven hid the secret in their impenetrableness.

Beyond them surely was the answer, and perhaps peace.
Material things--life, success--such as had inspired Kurt Dorn, on this calm night lost their significance and were seen clearly.