It would be like deserting Him on the eve of a great battle." She looked into his eager, hopeful eyes.

Yes, it had always been so--it always would be, to the end.

Not priests and prophets, but ever that little scattered band of glad sufferers for His sake would be His army.
His weapon still the cross, till the victory should be won.
She glanced through the open door to where the poor, broken fellows she always thought of as "her boys" lay so patient, and then held out her hand to him with a smile, though the tears were in her eyes.
"So you're like all the rest of them, lad," she said.

"It's for King and country.

Good luck to you." After the war was over and the men, released from their long terms of solitary confinement, came back to life injured in mind and body, she was almost glad he had escaped.