These words stirred the boy into action, and he started to his father’s side; but, though his lips parted, no words came.
“The time is gliding away, Marcus, my boy,” said Cracis, sadly. “Come, speak out. You want to ask some favour before I go?”
“Yes, father, but after what you have said I hardly dare,” cried the boy, hoarsely.
“Speak out, my son, boldly and bravely,” said Cracis. “What is it you wish to say?”
“That there is yet time, father, before you go.”
“Time for what?” said Cracis, frowning as if he grasped what his son was about to say.
“Time for you to withdraw your command,” cried the boy, desperately. “Father, I can’t help it; I could not stay behind here with you leaving home for the wars. You must take me with you after all.”
Cracis frowned heavily.
“Is this my son speaking?” he said, harshly. “After the commands I have given you—after the way in which I have arranged for you to represent me here, and take my place in all things? Where are all my teachings about duty—have all flown to the winds?”
“No, no, father,” cried the boy, passionately; “but you cannot tell how I feel. You do not know what it is to be left alone, and for me to see you go.”