"Be of good courage. Let us hope that heaven will enable us to confound the plots of the evil, and save you!"
"Ah, Herbert, that will be impossible. The duty of a soldier is clear and stern; his punishment, if he fails in it, swift and sure. At the word of command he must march into the very jaws of death, as is right. He must die or madden for the want of rest, rather than fall asleep on his post, for if he does, his punishment is certain and shameful death. Oh, my mother! Oh, Clara! Would heaven I had fallen at Vera Cruz or Churubusco, rather than live to bring this dreadful sorrow upon you," cried Traverse, covering his convulsed face with his hands.
"Cheer up, cheer up, old comrade. All is not lost that is endangered, and we shall save you yet!"
"Herbert, you know it is impossible."
"No, I do not know any such thing!"
"You know that I shall be tried to-day and shot to-morrow! Oh, Herbert, never let my dear ones at home know how I shall die. Tell them that I fell before Chepultepec—which will be literally true, you know. Oh, my mother! Oh, my dear Clara, shall I never see you more? Never hear your sweet voices calling me? Never feel the kind clasp of your hands again? Is this the end of a life of aspiration and endeavor? Is this the comfort and happiness I was to bring you?—early bereavement, dishonored names and broken hearts?"
"I tell you, no! You shall be saved! I say it!"
"Ah, it is impossible."
"No, it is only very difficult—so very difficult that I shall be sure to accomplish it!"
"What a paradox!"