“It means a prison-ship, the fever, and maybe death,” he said, “but I am in the Lord’s hands, and his will be done. I’d do it over agin, Major, this minit,” he said, earnestly, “if I had the chance; for it was duty; and my notion is that a man’s got to do that, if wife, and children, and life too, all go for it.”
The veteran’s voice quivered at this thought of his family. But he resumed almost immediately, and in a firm voice.
“Howsomever, as I said afore, the Lord’s will be done. He took Daniel out of the lion’s den, and saved Shadrach, Meschid and Abednego in the fiery furnace; and if his ends are to be sarved by it, he’ll open my prison doors as he did those of Peter.”
“Alas! I don’t wish to say anything to shake your beautiful faith,” answered Major Gordon, “but the days of miracles are over. It’s because I see no way in which you are to be restored to your family, that I blame myself so; for I was—say what you will—the instrument of bringing you to this pass.”
Uncle Lawrence paused a moment, when he replied, in a voice slightly husky, but which he evidently tried to deprive of every evidence of emotion.
“If you please, Major, we’ll say no more about the wife and boys at home. It’s not the wisest plan, I take it, when a man’s never to see ‘em agin, perhaps, to aggervate it by telling him of ‘em.”
“Forgive me,” said the Major, deeply touched, and grasping his hand; feeling more poignantly than ever the evil he had unconsciously done.
“Well, we’ll say nothing about it,” continued Uncle Lawrence, “but there’s nothing to forgive.”
There was a moment’s silence; and then the old man spoke again.
“You’re mistaken, though, Major,” he said, “in what you say of Miss Katie. She’s no more a tory than you and me.”