A chastening power, acting intelligently and for a purpose--a living, working power, tearing them out of their grooves, breaking down their small sectarian ways, forcing them into the better path--that was what they had learned to realise during these days of horror.

Great hands had closed suddenly upon them, and had moulded them into new shapes, and fitted them for new uses.

Could such a power be deflected by any human supplication?
It was that or nothing--the last court of appeal, left open to injured humanity.

And so they all prayed, as a lover loves, or a poet writes, from the very inside of their souls, and they rose with that singular, illogical feeling of inward peace and satisfaction which prayer only can give.
"Hush!" said Cochrane.

"Listen!" The sound of a volley came crackling up the narrow khor, and then another and another.