“I cannot bear it! My dearest, I cannot! Strong man that I thought myself, I cannot!” he exclaimed, with the same half-suppressed, tempestuous emotion.
“But, why? Tell me why?” she persisted, with affectionate earnestness. “You have fought gallantly for it; you have shed your priceless blood in its defense; you have won immortal fame under it. Oh, why, then, may I not sing the praises of that glorious banner, so doubly dear to me for your sake?”
He was frightfully agitated.
“Oh, hush, Erminie, hush!” he cried.
“Ah! what has disturbed you so—what?” she exclaimed, rising from the piano and standing by his side.
“Some day, better angel of my life, I will tell you all. Not now! I cannot bear to do it; nor could you bear to hear it.”
“I can bear all things—all things for your sake! Try me—try me! Say, is your trouble now connected with the dear old flag?”
“Yes, it is connected with——” He paused, and then, with a spasmodic effort, added—“the dear old flag! But enough! ‘Old things shall pass away, and all things shall become new!’ We shall raise a banner, Erminie, in the blaze of whose young glory the old stars and stripes shall pale and fade, as the stars of night at the rising of the sun!”
“Oh, what do you mean? What are you about to do?” gasped Erminie, in a low voice, as she turned deadly pale.
“‘Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, till you approve the deed!’” he answered, smiling and throwing off the gloom that had gathered around them.