She shrugged her shoulders slightly, and looked at him in a strange manner. “I am as strong and as healthy as you,” said she, “my sight is as sharp, my hand as sure. Were I Charles Henry Buschman, I would be a good soldier, for I have courage—I would lot tremble at the cannon-balls.”
“But, fortunately, you are not a man,” said Charles Henry, laughing. “You are the beautiful Anna Sophia, who is this day to become my wife to save me from being a soldier.”
“No, Charles Henry; the war must be at an end, and Charles Henry Buschman must have returned a brave soldier, before I can marry him.”
“You mean,” said he, with trembling lips—“you mean I must be a soldier?”
“As you have said, they will not let you off. You are a strong, healthy youth—you are unmarried, and have no one to support, for your father can take care of himself. Why, then, as the king is in need of soldiers, should they pass you by?”
“It is too true.” murmured Charles Henry, despondently. After a slight pause, he said: “But I will not be a soldier—I cannot! For it is true I am a coward—I have not a particle of courage! That is born with one, it cannot be acquired; I have it not, and cannot therefore be a soldier.”
“Nor shall you become one,” said Anna, with determination.
“What can you do?”
“I will join the army in your stead!”
Charles Henry stared at her. He was on the point of laughing, but the sight of her inspired, earnest countenance, in which a world of determination was expressed, sobered him completely.