"You bring good news, comrade. I think the star of England is about to rise upon this land. Go now and rest yourself; but be near to me in the time of struggle. You are a swift and trusty messenger. It is such as you"--and his eyes sought Julian and Fritz, who were both alert and awake--"that I desire to have about me in the hour of final struggle."
Then, when Humphrey had gone below with Fritz, Wolfe turned to Julian and said, speaking slowly and dreamily:
"There is something I would say to you, my friend. I have a strange feeling that the close of my life is at hand--that I shall not live to see the fruit of my toil; though to die in battle--in the hour, if it may be, of victory--has been ever the summit of my hopes and ambition. Something tells me that I shall gain the object of my hope tomorrow, or today perchance. I have one charge to give you, Julian, if that thing should come to pass."
Julian bit his lip; he could not speak. He was aware of the presentiment which hung upon Wolfe's spirit, but he had fought against it might and main.
The, soldier placed his hand within the breast of his coat, and detached and drew out that miniature case containing the likeness of his mother and his betrothed. He opened it once, looked long in the dim light at both loved faces, and pressed his lips to each in turn.
"If I should fall," he said, "give it to Kate; I think she will like to have it. Tell her I wore it upon my heart till the last. I would not have it shattered by shot and shell. Give it her with my dying blessing and love, and tell her that my last prayer will be for her happiness. She must not grieve too much for me, or let her life be shadowed. I am happy in having known her love. I desire that happiness shall be her portion in life. Tell her that when you give her that case."
He closed it and placed it in Julian's hands, and spoke no more; though throughout that day of preparation and thought a gentle quietude of manner possessed him, and struck all with whom he came in contact.
Even when at last all was in readiness and the General in one of the foremost boats was drifting silently down the dark river, with the solemn stars overhead, it was not of battles or deeds of daring that he spoke with those about him. After the silence of deep tension his melodious voice was heard speaking words that fell strangely on the ears of the officers clustered about him.
"The curlew tolls the knell of parting day" spoke that voice; and in the deep hush of night the whole of that "Elegy" was softly rehearsed in a strangely impressive manner, a thrill running through many at the words:
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."