“I—­I am going to-morrow, you know, and—­” Then he almost laughed himself, for the droll inconsequence of this intelligence, after what had passed, touched even his small sense of humor.  “O Olympia, I mean that I shall be far away:  that I shall not see you after to-morrow.  Won’t you say something to encourage me—­to give me heart for the future?”

“Let me see,” and she leaned on her elbow musingly, as if construing his words literally, and quite unaware of the tender intent of his prayer.  “It ought to be a line to go on your sword—­there’s where you have the advantage of poor Jack, he has only a musket.  But, no, you being a Southerner, have a coat of arms, and the line must go on that.  I used to know plenty of stirring phrases suitable to young men setting out for the wars.  Perhaps you know them, too; they are to be found in the copy-books.  ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’ wouldn’t do, would it?  Pens are only fit for poets and men of peace?  We should have something brief and epigrammatic.  ’That hour is regal when the sentinel mounts on guard.’  There is sublimity in that, but you won’t go on guard, being an officer.

     ’No blood-stained woes in mankind’s story
      Should daunt the heart that’s set on glory.’

“That’s too trivial—­the sort of doggerel for newspaper poets’ corners rather than a warrior’s shield.

     ’Think on the perils that environ
      The man that meddles with cold iron!’

“That’s too much like a caution, and a soldier’s motto should urge to daring.  So we’ll none of that.  What do you say to the distich in honor of your great ancestor, Pocahontas’s husband, John Smith: 

     ’I never yet knew a warrior but thee,
      From wine, tobacco, debt, and vice so free.’

“Perhaps, however, that might be regarded as vaunting over your comrades, who, I’ve no doubt, relax the tedium of war in temperate indulgence of some of these vices.  ’Put up thy sword; states may be saved without it,’ would sound out of keeping for a warrior whose States drew the sword when the olive-branch was offered them.  You see, I can not select any text quite suitable to your case?”

“O Olympia, I did not believe you could be so heartless!  Be serious.”

“Well, Mr. Soldier, if you insist, I know nothing better for a warrior to bear in mind in war than these simple lines: 

     ’The bravest are the tenderest,
       The loving are the daring.’”

“You are right, Olympia—­those are noble lines.  It gives me courage; the loving are the daring!  I love you; I dare to tell you that I love you!  Ah, Olympia, I love you so well that I have been traitor to my fatherland!  I have loitered here in the hope that you would give me some sign—­some word to take with me in the dark path Fate has set for me to follow.”

He came back to her side now, passion and zeal in his shining eyes, ardent, elate, expectant.  But she put the hand behind her that he reached out to seize as he fell upon one knee by her chair.  Her voice softened and a warm light shone in her eye when she spoke: