“You? To fight?”
“Yes; I know I am young and weak—Yes, I know, only a boy, but I shall grow strong, and it is not only to fight. I want to be there to help him. He might be sick or wounded. He says I must stay at home here, but I appeal to you. You can tell him how useful I could be. You will tell him, sir, for I feel that I ought not—that I cannot stay here and let him go alone.”
“Well spoken, my brave boy!” cried Caius Julius. “Spoken like a man! So you, young as you are, would go with us?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” cried Marcus, in his wild excitement, as he listened to this encouraging reception of his appeal. “I think I could fight; but even if I could not there is so much that I could do.”
“And you would not feel afraid?” cried Julius, catching the boy by the arm.
“No—yes—no—I do not know,” said the boy, colouring. “I hope not.”
“You do not know the horrors of a battlefield, boy,” said Julius, fixing Marcus with his keen eyes.
“No,” said Marcus, thoughtfully; “it must be very terrible, but I do not think I should shrink. I should be thinking so much of my father.”
“Well, honestly and modestly spoken, boy,” said Julius. “Why, you make me feel full of confidence in your becoming as brave and great a man as your father.”
“Oh no, sir,” replied Marcus, sadly. “No one could be so great and brave a man as he.”