He went out into the noise and hurry of war preparations in a sort of intoxication.

Underneath he never ceased to be conscious of the dreadful specter that would not be gone--that stood impassive and immovable as one of the mountains about him, waiting for him to come to it and face it and live his day of reckoning,--the day of his own judgment upon himself.

But he drank thirstily of the martial draught and lived the time in a fever of tumultuous drunkenness to the awful truth.
He saw to it that he was never alone by day or night.

Once a new thought and a sudden hope came to him, and he had been about to pray that in the campaign he was entering he might be killed.

But a second thought stayed him; he had no right to die until he had faced his own judgment.
The army of Israel was now well organised.