"Not now."
"Why not now? I have told you how precarious your state is: you had better send a few lines home: let me write something for you,—shall I?"
"No, no! I have no wish to write. They have not heard for more than twenty years; it is no use writing now, they may all be dead."
"Oh, no! that is not probable; and they will in time hear of the battle you have been in, and see your name amongst the wounded. It would comfort them greatly to hear from you; and if, as you say, you have not written for so long a time, how they would rejoice to find you had not forgotten them!"
"No, doctor," said Hubert, faintly, "it would be no joy to them, they cannot care for me now. I broke my mother's heart; I know it. I dreamt it once, years ago; and many a time the sad face I saw in my dream has come before me when I have least wanted it; many other things, too, doctor, I could tell you which forbid my writing. No, I cannot, at least not now—another time."
"No, my poor friend, not another time, write now: I'll write, shall I?"
"Write what, and to whom? No, I tell you, they are dead," and he turned his face away.
The doctor knew well that Hubert's illness was too serious a matter to be trifled with: everything was against him; it was the hottest season of the year, dissipation had undermined his constitution, and his mind was uneasy; and the thought had struck that good man, that if he could get Hubert to turn his thoughts homeward, reflection might bring remorse for his past life, and he might think of eternity. For a few seconds he stood still, gazing silently at his patient, wondering what he should do. It was not his custom to see a soldier die without feeling any concern; his own well-worn Bible testified how often he had used that sacred book; and written in the Book of Life were perhaps not a few names of erring yet repentant sinners, brought to know Christ by his humble efforts. "Soldier brother," he said, as he took the hot hand once again in his own, "I must not be refused all I ask; let me read to you."
Hubert made no answer, and the doctor turned over the soiled pages of his Bible and read, with a soft clear voice, the fifty-first Psalm.—
"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness; according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions," &c., &c.