“I know it, Justin! But, in the meantime, the association! Why, the rank and file of our army are made up of all sorts of men!” pleaded Erminie.
“My sister, your experience among the wounded soldiers in the hospitals must have taught you that there are as noble men and true gentlemen in the rank and file of our army as any that ever wore the stars of a major-general,” said Justin, very gravely.
“I know it! oh, I know it! Heaven forgive me for my pride; for while you spoke I thought of Grandison, a Frenchman, who died after many months of suffering in the Trinity Church hospital in Georgetown. He was one of the most accomplished scholars and polished gentlemen I ever met anywhere, not even excepting his countrymen the Orleans princes whom I met at the President’s reception. Heaven forgive me for saying anything in disparagement of the common soldier!” said Erminie, meekly, as her brown eyes filled with tears at the remembrance of the dying soldier whose death-bed she had smoothed.
“And you will oppose my plan no longer, my sister?” inquired Justin, caressing her.
“No longer,” she murmured in reply.
So Justin went and enlisted in a new regiment that was being formed to go into active service.
And his sister saw no more of him for a week, at the end of which he re-appeared at the parsonage with his fine auburn hair cropped close to his head and surmounted by the soldier’s cap, and his athletic form displayed to the very best advantage in the round blue jacket and trowsers of the private’s uniform.
The three young ladies were alone in the drawing-room when he was ushered in in this dress.
Half laughing and half crying, Erminie sprang to welcome him.
With visible emotion Britomarte also offered him her hand.