Can this be death? Then what is life, or death?
“Speak!” But he spoke not. “Wake!” But still he slept:
But yesterday and who had mightier breath?
A thousand warriors by his word were kept
In awe. He said, as the centurian saith—
“Go,” and he goeth; “Come,” and he steppeth forth.
The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb,
And now naught left him but the muffled drum.—Byron.
The next morning it was Elfie who was all impatience to get off to the hospitals. On nearly all former occasions when Elfie was to be her companion in her rounds among the sick and wounded soldiers, Erminie had been very much “tried” by her friend’s dilatory habits. But this morning Elfie was dressed and had the carriage at the door long before Erminie had got through her domestic duties of the forenoon. And so Elfie spent the time in walking impatiently up and down the hall, until at length Erminie made her appearance in bonnet and shawl.
“You will go to the hospital first?” inquired Elfie, anxiously, thinking and speaking as if the hospital in which Albert Goldsborough lay were the only one in the city.