"I had a little rough discipline," answered Raphael lightly, "such as every soldier must look for. I have often cheered myself under it by remembering the words of my father—if applicable to earthly warfare, how much more so to the heavenly!—'The duty of a brave soldier is simple, prompt, unswerving obedience, even unto death!'"
"But does it not damp your spirit," asked Horace, "to find that you labor and suffer in vain?"
A thoughtful, pensive expression sat on the brow of the young Italian as he replied, "Is there not a promise that such labor shall not be in vain? I have not much to cheer me, I own, as regards any little efforts of my own; yet the village youth whom I am now going to visit has begun to pray in earnest, and in the Savior's name alone. Sometimes I think that in my brother's bosom a better spirit is stirring, though he is hedged round with difficulties whose greatness a stranger cannot fully understand. God will give Enrico to me; while life remains, I will never cease to pray for my brother, and He in whom I trust will grant me my heart's desire."
The sigh which followed came from a burdened, but yet a confiding heart.
"Oh, yes," cried Horace, anxious to efface the painful impression caused by a thoughtless question, "you will not suffer without reward. I know not whether you will care to hear it, but I must tell you one thing. Though, from my cradle, I have heard a great deal about religion, I have never thought so seriously upon the subject as you have made me do during these last few days. If I ever become a real Christian—a faithful soldier, as you would say—I shall trace, the beginning of an earnest life to these hours which I have spent with you under this oak."
The pale face of Raphael lighted up with an expression of joy, as when a sunbeam, bursting from behind a cloud, throws over a still stream a pathway of glory. The smile was so bright, so sudden, so angel-like in its gladness, that it often in future days recurred to the memory of Horace. Raphael grasped his hand with the warmth of a brother, but without commenting upon what he had said; and the improvisatore soon afterwards descended to the forest to go on his errand of mercy to the sick.
[CHAPTER XIII.]
FAILURE.
Not the example and influence of Raphael alone tended to ripen good resolutions in the mind of the captive; much resulted from the effect of the long hours of solitude in which reflection was forced upon him. To one of Horace's lively temper and active disposition, meditation had appeared to be of all occupations the most tedious and unprofitable, as long as study or amusement could fill up each waking hour.
It was thus that little wisdom had been gained while a good deal of knowledge had been acquired, and that even the lessons of experience had made but small impression upon Horace Cleveland. He had had his day-dreams, it is true, and his schemes of ambition, but neither had been calmly reviewed in the sober light of truth. Now, having nothing else to do, Horace perforce must think; and the result of reflection was that the proud lad, who, exalted by conscious superiority over his companions, had feared comparison with no one, now felt mortified and even disgusted himself. He recalled circumstances that had once elated him; he remembered the trophies won by intellectual or physical efforts; all their glitter and glory seemed gone.