He sprang from his seat with a cry of joy.
“You will then marry me, Anna Sophia?” said he, exultingly. “You will become my wife, so as to keep me here? You love me too much to let me go!” He tried to embrace her, but she waved him off.
“No,” said she, “I will not marry you, but, still, you must not join the army; for if you became a deserter, it would break your father’s heart, and it would be a disgrace, not only for me, but for the whole village. Think well over what you have said. Perhaps you are mistaken in yourself, and only dislike joining the army on your poor father’s account. Question your conscience and your heart, and remember, Charles Henry, that God will hear your answer. Do you truly believe that you are wanting in courage—that you would fly from the battle-field?”
“As truly as there is a God above us, I believe it, Anna Sophia. It is not belief, it is certainty. It is not in my nature to be brave; I was not brought up to it, and am therefore without it. I am an apt farmer, but would be a bad soldier.”
Anna Sophia sighed deeply, and covered her face with her hands. Thus she stood for some time in front of her betrothed, and he saw the large tears, stealing through her fingers, fall upon the grass, to be transformed there by the sun into sparkling jewels.
“Why do you weep, Anna Sophia?” asked he, gently. “What has so suddenly made you sad?”
Her hands fell slowly and wearily from her face. “I am not weeping now,” said she, “it is past—I have shed my last tear. Now we must settle upon what is to be done, for you cannot be a soldier.”
“But they will force me,” said he, “for I am tall, strong, and healthy—just the build for a soldier.”
Anna Sophia raised herself proudly and stood beside him. “I am as tall as you,” said she.
“It is true,” replied Charles Henry, laughing, “we are of the same height. We can scarcely fail to have tall, good-looking children some of these days!”