“And you’ll take me with you, father?”
Cracis was silent for a few moments, and he sighed deeply as he laid his hand upon his son’s head.
“No, my boy; I must leave you behind. I am going to take part in a great struggle.”
“A great struggle, father? You don’t mean a war?”
“Yes, my boy, I do mean a war.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Marcus, and he turned sharply upon their visitor, looking the question he longed to put, while Caius Julius met his eyes and bowed in silence.
“You are too young,” said Cracis, slowly; “and now I want you to help me for the short time I am here making my preparations.”
“Yes, father,” cried the boy, in a choking voice; “but I should like for you to—”
“Yes,” said Cracis, interrupting him and speaking very firmly, “I know what you would say—take you with me—but it cannot be. Now, Marcus, you are only a boy, but I want you to let my old friend see that you can act like a man. Do you understand?”
“Yes, father.”