"Oh, I can cut off my hair," she said, quickly; "and as for my voice, Kalbaum, the tailor, who accompanied the volunteers, has a voice no stronger than mine, and yet he was accepted. And then—"
"Hush!" interposed her father quickly. "I hear your mother coming. Do not speak of such things when she is present. It would alarm her. Bold thoughts must be locked up in our hearts, for, if we speak of them, it looks like braggadocio; we are only allowed to speak of bold deeds. Do not forget that, my daughter, and give me a kiss!" Leonora hastened to her father, and encircling him with her arms, pressed a glowing kiss on the lips of the old invalid.
"Father," she whispered, "I believe you understand me, and can read my thoughts!"
"God alone is able to read our thoughts," said her father, solemnly, "and it is only from Him that we must not conceal any thing. But what is that? Is not your mother weeping outside?" And old Prohaska jumped up and limped, as quickly as his wooden leg permitted, toward the door.
At this moment the door was noisily opened, and a woman appeared on the threshold. Behind her was a tall, slender, and pale boy, scarcely fourteen years of age. Both entered the room with tearful eyes and loud lamentations.
"Wife, what is the matter—what has happened?" exclaimed Old
Prohaska, anxiously.
"Why do you weep, my brother?" asked Leonora, hastening to the boy, and clasping him in her arms. He laid his head on her breast and wept aloud.
"What has happened?" wailed his mother. "All our hopes are blasted; we have been rejected!"
"Rejected? Where? And by whom?" asked the invalid, in amazement.
"By the military commission!" cried his wife, drying her tears with her long apron.