rude democratic strength with the keenness of a higher physical
organization and the nobility of a more disinterested daring, and again
and again rousing the English-speaking races to life and conquest,
when they were sunk deep in the sordid interests of trade and money-
making. So when Arnold talked of laws and institutions which should
again make Rome the mistress of the world, Gilbert answered him by
talking of men who had the strength to take the world and to be its
masters and make it obey whatsoever laws they saw fit to impose.
Between the two there was the everlasting difference between theory and
action; and though it chanced that just then Arnold, the dreamer, was
in the lead of change and revolution, while Gilbert, the fighter, was
idling away weeks and months in a dream, yet the fact was the same, and
in manly strength and inward simplicity of thought Gilbert Warde, the
Norman, was far nearer to the man who made Rome imperial than was the
eloquent Italian who built the mistress city of his thoughts out of
ideas and theories, carved and hewn into shapes of beauty by the
tremendous tools of his wit and his words. At the root of the great
difference between the two there was on the one side the Norman's
centralization of the world in himself, as being for himself, and on
the other the Latin's power and readiness to forget himself in the
imaginations of an ideal state.

"Men are talking of a second Crusade," said Arnold, one day, when he
and Gilbert had chanced to meet in the garden court of Saint Peter's.

Gilbert was standing with his back against one of the cypress trees,
watching the fiery monk with thoughtful eyes.

"They talk of Crusades," said Arnold, stopping to face the young man.
"They talk of sending hundreds of thousands of Christian men to die