He had made a sacrifice that few understood.

He had no reward except a consciousness that grew more luminous and glorious in its lonely light as time went on.

He had endured the uttermost agonies of hell, a thousand times worse than death, and he had come home with love, with his faith still true.

To what had he returned?
No need for reason or intelligence to knock at the gates of his passion! The war had left havoc.

The physical, the sensual, the violent, the simian--these instincts, engendering the Day of the Beast, had come to dominate the people he had fought for.