_He kisses her and goes out, taking the valise. His father and
mother stand facing each other._)

HILDA. Wallace has volunteered. (_He looks at her keenly._) He has
lied about his age. He wants us to let him go.

WHITE. Volunteered?

HILDA. Yes; he leaves to-night.

WHITE (_after a pause_). And what have you told him?

HILDA. That he must go.

WHITE. You can say that?

HILDA. It is the way he sees it.

WHITE (_going to her sympathetically_). Hilda.

HILDA (_looking up at him tenderly_). O Will, do you remember when
he was born? (_He soothes her._) And all we nursed him through
afterwards; and all we taught him; all we tried to show him about
war. (_With a shrug of her shoulders_) None of it has mattered.

WHITE. War is stronger than all that.

HILDA. So we mustn't blame him. You won't blame him?

WHITE. He fears I will?

HILDA. He has always feared you a little, though he loves you
deeply. You mustn't oppose him, dear. You won't?

WHITE (_wearily_). Is there any use opposing anybody or anything
these days?

HILDA. We must wait till the storm passes.

WHITE. That's never been my way.

HILDA. No. You've fought all your life. But now we must sit
silent together and wait; wait for our boy to come back. Will,
think of it; we are going to have a boy "over there," too.

WHITE. Hilda, hasn't it ever struck you that we may have been all
wrong? (_She looks at him, as she holds his hand._) What could
these frail hands do? How could we poor little King Canutes halt
this tide that has swept over the world? Isn't it better, after
all, that men should fight themselves out; bring such desolation
upon themselves that they will be forced to see the futility of
war? May it not become so terrible that men--the workers, I
mean--will throw down their worn-out weapons of their own accord?
Won't permanent peace come through bitter experience rather than
talk--talk--talk?

HILDA (_touching the torn pages of his speech and smiling_). Here
is your answer to your own question.

WHITE. Oh, that was all theory. We're in now. You say yourself we
can't oppose it. Isn't it better if we try to direct the current
to our own ends rather than sink by trying to swim against it?

HILDA. Oh, yes; it would be easier for one who _could_
compromise.

WHITE. But haven't we radicals been too intolerant of compromise?

HILDA. That has been _your_ strength. And it is your
strength I'm relying on now that Wallace--Shall I call him?