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THE UNSEEN HOST
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that the soul of the dying soldier has come through that door on its way to rejoin its regiment!

The Surgeon (nodding gravely). If I were a poet. (As he speaks the second door opens deliberately. He watches it with a smile; The Visitor with curious fascination.)

The Visitor. Gad! (The door closes of its own accord.)

The Visitor (repeating as if hypnotized). To rejoin its regiment!

The Surgeon (after a pause). You didn't notice—

The Visitor (sharply). What?

The Surgeon (mildly). To me—the room seemed somewhat lighter for an instant.

The Visitor. Bah!

The Surgeon. A poetic conception of yours: the soul joins the regiment of souls! All around us—above us—within us—the unseen host gathers its forces! (There is the very, very faint sound of a bugle in the distance.)

The Visitor (under his breath). Did you hear?

The Surgeon. I heard.

The Visitor. A bugle!

The Surgeon. Yes. (They listen, and gradually there commences a curious, hollow, rhythmic tramp. Very subdued at first, it increases