The fatal paper was drawn forth, but she had not the courage to open it; neither had her husband.
The captain gently took it from her hand and opened it. The old man's kindly features fell. He gave her a glance full of commiseration, and shook his white head sorrowfully.
"My puir lassie!" said he.
"I am not to go?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"God comfort you, bairn; corporal, look to your wife," he added hastily, as she sank back into the arms of the soldiers who crowded round her.
On recovering, she begged and implored her husband, hysterically and in moving terms, not to leave her, and her yet unborn babe; but he—a soldier and under orders—what had he to urge—what promise could he make, for he was not a free man? This scene was singularly painful, for the young corporal and his little English wife were respected by all the company. While Captain Glendonwyn was endeavouring to console them, one of those incidents ensued, which, I rejoice to say, are not of unfrequent occurrence in the service. Tom Telfer stepped forward, and saluting the captain said,—
"Please, sir, because I was an awkward fellow, they detained me for the depôt; but if you could get the corporal turned over to it, I'll gladly volunteer, for his wife's sake, to go in his place."
"Thanks, my brave lad," said the old captain, clapping him on the shoulder; "you are a credit to the regiment—I will never forget you."
"Bless you, Tom Telfer—bless you—bless you!" cried the young wife, throwing her arms round his neck and kissing him on both cheeks in a transport of gratitude, while her husband wrung his hand, and the soldiers gave him three cheers.
The balloting was again resumed, and the other prizes "to go," fell, as usual in such cases, to the lot of the worthless and careless, too many of whom followed our corps in those days.