stranger's feet. "My master," he cried, "I dare not take that message. It
is not that men may say, 'Here is Trooper Peter Halket, whom we all know, a
man who kept women and shot niggers, turned prophet.' But it is, that it
is true. Have I not wished--" and Peter Halket would have poured out all
his soul; but the stranger prevented him.

"Peter Simon Halket," he said, "is it the trumpet which gives forth the
call to battle, whether it be battered tin or gilded silver, which boots?
Is it not the call? What and if I should send my message by a woman or a
child: shall truth be less truth because the bearer is despised? Is it
the mouth that speaks or the word that is spoken which is eternal?
Nevertheless, if you will have it so, go, and say, 'I, Peter Halket, sinner
among you all, who have desired women and gold, who have loved myself and
hated my fellow, I--'" The stranger looked down at him, and placed his
hand gently on his head. "Peter Simon Halket," he said, "a harder task I
give you than any which has been laid upon you. In that small spot where
alone on earth your will rules, bring there into being the kingdom today.
Love your enemies; do good to them that hate you. Walk ever forward,
looking not to the right hand or the left. Heed not what men shall say of
you. Succour the oppressed; deliver the captive. If thine enemy hunger,
feed him; if he is athirst give him drink."

A curious warmth and gladness stole over Peter Halket as he knelt; it was
as, when a little child, his mother folded him to her: he saw nothing more
about him but a soft bright light. Yet in it he heard a voice cry,
"Because thou hast loved mercy--and hated oppression--"

When Trooper Peter Halket raised himself, he saw the figure of the stranger
passing from him. He cried, "My Master, let me go with you." But the
figure did not turn. And, as it passed into the darkness, it seemed to