“It is.”
“And the love of him whose manly courage and devotion 201 won this tribute is the best blessing God ever gave you, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“And yet, for the brief ecstasy of one kiss, you would disgrace this hero-husband of yours, stain all his noble reputation, and turn this priceless paper to bitterness; for the rear-guard would hunt him from his own cottage, in half an hour, a deserter and a coward.”
Not a sound could be heard save her hurried breathing. The rest of us held our breath. Suddenly, with a gasp of recovered consciousness, she snatched the paper from my hand, put it back hurriedly in her bosom, and turning once more to her mother, said: “Mother, tell him not to come.”
I stepped aside at once. She left the porch, glided down the path to the gate, crossed the road, surmounted the fence with easy grace, climbed the hill, and as she disappeared in the weedy pathway I caught up my hat and said:
“Now, men, give her three cheers.”
Such cheers. Oh, God, shall I ever again hear a cheer which bears a man’s whole soul in it? For the first time I felt reasonably sure of my battalion. It would follow anywhere.