What was the _soul_ ?--had it really an independent life?
_Something_ there was in men--quite rough and common men--something revealed by war and the sufferings of war--so splendid, so infinitely beyond anything he had ever dreamed of in ordinary life, that to think of it roused in him a passion of hidden feeling--perhaps adoration--but vague and speechless--adoration of he knew not what.

He did not speak easily of his feeling, even to his young wife, to whom marriage had so closely, so ineffably bound him.

But as he lay on the grass looking up at her--smiling--obeying her command of silence, his thoughts ranged irrepressibly.

Supposing he fell, and she lived on--years and years--to be an old woman?
Old! Nelly?
Impossible! He put his hand gently on the slender foot, and felt the pulsing life in it.

'Dearest!' she murmured at his touch, and their eyes met tenderly.
'I should be content--' he thought--'if we could just live _this_ life out! I don't believe I should want another life.