“Oh, Heaven!” groaned Justin, dropping his head upon his hands and thinking of his young sister in her desolate orphanage, and of another still dearer than that sister, and realizing how the news of his dreadful doom would break those loving hearts.
“Come, come, man alive!” exclaimed Monck, heartily, “don’t be cast down because you are going to be strung up! Fortune of war, you know; and it may be my fate to-morrow if I fall into the hands of the clock peddlers! Come, drink your brandy—it will set you up. And here: take something substantial with it,” he added, rising from his place and going to the side-table to bring a plate of biscuits.
At that moment Justin felt a light hand laid upon his head. He looked up and saw Wing standing beside him. The boy was deadly pale, but perfectly calm.
“Listen, my Colonel,” he whispered: “there is one chance left to you for life. You know that we have heard of Monck,—how he——”
The remainder of the sentence was breathed into the ear of Justin Rosenthal, whose countenance immediately cleared up.
“You have saved me again, Wing! But you—you, my boy?” he exclaimed, in a low tone.
“Oh, leave me to myself and to God! I shall be safe—I am always safe! Oh, believe it! believe it when I swear it to you. Hush! that monster is coming back!” said Wing, retreating to the door.
In fact, at that moment Monck did return, bringing in one hand a plate of biscuits, and in the other a plate of cheese, which he set before his prisoner, saying:
“Come! ‘let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die;’ or, rather, to-night, at least, you do!”
“All right!” exclaimed Justin, laughing. “A soldier must be ready to meet death at any moment and in any manner. Your health, Major Monck!” he added, pouring a little brandy into his glass.