There was a painful pause here, broken by Lady Markham’s sobs; and then, with a sudden display of soldierly firmness, Sir Godfrey bent down and kissed his wife.
“Come, my darling,” he said, “remember your duty as the wife and mother of two soldiers suddenly called away.”
“I’ll try,” said Lady Markham, rising sadly.
“And succeed,” replied Sir Godfrey, gently. “Come, Scarlett, my boy. Time flies. You will choose which horse you like, and prepare the very few necessaries that you can carry. We shall get our equipment at Exeter, so work hard, as if you momentarily expected to hear the trumpet call, ‘To horse.’ Why, it stirs my blood again, after all these years of idleness. That’s better, my darling. Women should not weep when those they love are about to leave on duty, but give them smiles.”
“Smiles, Godfrey!” said Lady Markham, sadly.
“Yes, smiles. Every soldier who goes to fight does not get hard blows or wounds. Many escape everything, and come back covered with glory and full of the sense of duty done. There, Scarlett, my boy, away with you and pack your valise. Recollect you are a soldier now.”
Scarlett dashed at his mother, kissed her, and then, bewildered by excitement, he hurried out to go to the stable and select the horse he might need to carry him in many a perilous time; but before he reached the long range of buildings where Sir Godfrey’s horses led their peaceful life, he was attacked by Nat.
“Here, Master Scar,” he cried excitedly, catching the lad by the sleeve, “is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“That the war’s coming nigher our way, and they’ve sent for the master to fight?”