In the crowd one boy attracted Britomarte’s attention. Though he wore the uniform of a soldier, he did not seem to be more than fifteen years of age. A bright, spirited-looking lad he was, but he seemed quite alone in that crowd. No one accosted him, and he spoke to none. Britomarte watched him with some interest.
“He belongs to my company,” said Justin.
Britomarte and Erminie now got out of their carriage and stood with Justin, until the company immediately before his own fell into order to embark. Then it was the turn of Justin’s company to form.
“I must leave you now, Erminie! be a woman, my little girl!” said Justin, hastily but fervently pressing his sister to his bosom.
“God bless you! Oh! God bless you, my brother!” she cried, trying hard to swallow and keep down her sobs and tears.
“Good-bye, Britomarte!” said Justin, solemnly, giving her his hand.
“Good-bye! May God strengthen your arm, and preserve your life in the battle, and send you back with victory! Good-bye!” she answered, wringing his hand and dropping it, and turning away her head to hide the strong emotion all but too manifest in her countenance.
A sigh reached her ear, and then the piteous words:
“Well, there is no one in the world to bid me good-bye, or ask God to bless me. Oh, well, so much the better may be, for if I’m killed there’ll be nobody’s feelings hurt.”
Britomarte looked up.