Her tender tears of womanhood
Most woman-pure did make.—E. B. Browning.
Adjutant Wing knelt down beside the dead and took two fresh white pocket-handkerchiefs from his bosom—Adjutant Wing was rather dainty for a soldier, in some of his habits, and constantly exposed himself to the raillery of his companions by his weakness for clean linen. He now covered with the handkerchiefs the poor dead faces, and, still kneeling, gazed upon the two bodies, while great tears rolled slowly down his cheeks.
“You are weeping, Wing,” said Colonel Rosenthal, kindly.
“I cannot—cannot help it,” said the boy, sobbing aloud. “When I look at these two, and remember that they were kind to me, and that I betrayed them to this death, I cannot help it. Oh, my Colonel, I have shed some bitter tears in my life. But these are the bitterest that ever fell from my eyes!”
“Wing, what you did was done as a sacred duty in the service of your country.”
“Yes, I know; but the duty was very revolting to me. Once I said that nothing on earth could ever induce me to become a spy; but that was before the war, and I was in no condition to judge of the matter.”
As Wing sobbed forth these words Colonel Rosenthal started and looked at him wistfully for a minute; then, seemingly satisfied by the scrutiny, he said:
“Our military duties are often revolting to us, my boy; but still they are duties—sacred duties—and must be performed. I suppose the judge who pronounces a sentence of death, and the sheriff who executes it, both feel their duty to be a painful one; but they do it. I am sorry for these people, Wing—very, very sorry for them; but—they were traitors.”
“Oh, call them no hard names over their still, cold bodies, my Colonel. Their lips are mute and cannot reply. They thought they were right, and so thinking, they were true to themselves, and true, oh heaven, how true to each other! Theirs was a rare love, my Colonel; stronger than life and death!” wept Wing.