'Heaven alone knows—I do not!' was the half-despairing response.
The news spread fast, and, apart from his brother-officers, the men of his company came by sections and scores to shake his hand and bid him farewell. All felt for him, loved him and sorrowed for him, and the dark dream, seemed to be in progress still. Could it all be real?
The first preparation for departure was to take from his desk the withered daisies culled from his mother's grave, and place them in his breast. An intense longing was in his heart now to be gone—to go, go, go—anywhere!
'I am going away, Tom,' said he to Atkins, who was hovering about him, and mechanically polishing the sword he would never draw again.
'Where to, sir?' asked Tom.
'I don't know where to—as yet—but I'm out of the regiment now!'
'Out of the regiment,' faltered Tom, as if it was an impossible event, even after all that had preceded it.
'Yes; I am, God help me, a broken man!'
There was a sob in Tom's throat, and he ventured to wring his master's hand.
'And you leave, sir——'