"I pity those of both sides."
"And so do I. I did not mean it that way."
The servant was cowering in a corner of the room. Harley sprang to his feet and stood, staggering.
"I must be at the window!" he said.
Helen darted to his support.
"But your wounds," she said. "You must think of them!"
"I tell you I shall stay at the window!" he exclaimed with energy. "If I cannot fight, I must see!"
She knew the tone that would endure no denial, and they helped him to the window, where they propped him in a chair with his eyes to the eastern forest. The glow of battle came upon his face and rested there.
"Listen!" he cried. "Don't you hear that music? It's the big guns, not less than twenty. You cannot hear the rifles from here. Ah if I were only there!"
The three looked continually toward the east, where a somber black line was beginning to form against the red-and-gold glow of the sunrise. Louder and louder sounded the cannon. More guns were coming into action, and the deep, blended and violent note seemed to roll up against the house until every log, solid as it was, trembled with the concussion. Afar over the forest the veil of smoke began to grow wider and thicker and to blot out the red-and-gold glory of the sunrise.