Then we sat and watched the dying lad in silence. Even now the pain I felt was more like that caused by a horrid nightmare than by a proper understanding of the truth.
Could this swathed and bandaged figure really be my bonny brother--he who so short a time back was full of life, and hope, and energy?
So motionless he lay, so still, that I frequently pressed my lips to his to find if he still breathed.
Had it been possible, I would willingly have changed places with him; for Stephen had ever been the object of my fondest love.
"George!"
The sound almost brought the tears to my eyes, it was so feeble, and recalled so vividly the memory of our childhood.
I gazed lovingly into the dear face, already taking the hue of death.
"I am dying, George, but don't grieve for me. With a good conscience, death is not hard, and I have tried to do my duty. Our father is smiling on me, and I am content. Is that Rakoczy? Dear old friend! True as steel! Is it evening? My sight is dim. Closer, brother; let me feel you. Ah!"
I thought he had drawn his last breath, but presently he rallied.
"Rakoczy," he said very feebly, "good-bye! Tell the general. Remember me sometimes. What's that? John, you are weeping! 'John the Joyous' in tears--and for me? Good-bye, brother; God bless you."