In vain she warned him of danger.
“My peril is nothing, my love,” he answered quietly. “At home, the horrors of a servile reign of terror have become a reality. These prison walls do not interest me. My heart is with our stricken people. You must go home. Our neighbour, Mr. Lenoir, is slowly dying. His wife will always be a child. Little Marion is older and more self-reliant. I feel as if they are our own children. There are so many who need us. They have always looked to me for guidance and help. You can do more for them than any one else. My calling is to heal others. You have always helped me. Do now as I ask you.”
At last she consented to leave for Piedmont on the following day, and he smiled.
“Kiss Ben and Margaret for me and tell them that I’ll be with them soon,” he said cheerily. He meant in the spirit, not the flesh. Not the faintest hope of life even flickered in his mind.
In the last farewell embrace a faint tremor of the soul, half sigh, half groan, escaped his lips, and he drew her again to his breast, whispering:
“Always my sweetheart, good, beautiful, brave, and true!”