vening
beasts, blood and fire, death and destruction.

Innumerable thoughts conflicted in his brain. Whose was the guilt that
these immemorial horrors still existed, that they were even protected
by law? Who was it that desired war? Was it the nations, incensed
against each other by race-hatred? Was it their rulers seeking renown?
Was it greedy self-interested diplomatists? Secret, but so much the
more effectual, under-currents of Jesuitical intrigue? Fire-eating
generals, pining to justify their existence? Who was it that dared
assume responsibility for such a colossal crime against humanity?

Reimers was loth to press such considerations further, By so doing he
might be led to conclusions before which he shrank, because from his
youth up they had been pictured to him as detestable and criminal; he
turned from them in alarm.

One thing he saw clearly and distinctly: war, which seemed to be a
necessity in the life of a nation, demanded strong-minded men, hard as
steel. Men like himself, broken in spirit, were useless and unfit for
the profession of an officer. A soldier without fresh living enthusiasm
for his calling was nothing but a figure of straw.

It was borne in upon him that he was a mere caricature of an officer,
such as he had hitherto despised; perhaps but a more thoughtful,
melancholy variation from the whole brainless type.

But what had he to look for in the world beside?

Next morning Senior-lieutenant Frommelt, the temporary commander of the
second battery, came to Reimers in a hurry.

"My dear Reimers," he said, "I must ask you to do me a kindness. After
the exercises to-day will you drive back at once to the garrison?
Somewhere in Gropphusen's house the punishment-book of the battery must
be lying about, and a few important orders with it. The sergeant-major
sent it over to him the evening before our departure, and now we want
it. Will you go?"

And Reimers answered, "Of course I will, Frommelt."

The commander of the battery continued, quivering with the anxiety
appertaining to his new dignity: "You know, I would have sent
Weissenhagen, as he is the youngest officer; but he is a little
flighty, and I don't quite like to trust him with such a delicate
matter as conversing with a lady about the failings of her absent
husband."

"But is that necessary?" asked Reimers.

"I think so. You see we have not been able to find the things anywhere.
You must describe the books--you know the usual bi