I had grown to love the boy for his high qualities of mind and soul, and my voice faltered as I murmured, "Do not give up,—fight the good fight."
"Of faith," he added, gravely, "looking forward to what is to come."
It seemed to me that an old man stood pressing my hand—an old man with life's experience behind him. My heart ached for the lad, and I hurried into the house.
"Good-bye," I said, coldly, to my hostess.
"Good-bye, a pleasant journey," she responded, with equal coldness.
"If you do not take that boy of yours home, you will lose him," I murmured.
I thought my voice was low, but it was not low enough to escape the ears of the princess, who was standing beside her.
Mrs. Greyshield turned away, and the princess's lips moved almost imperceptibly in the words, "What is the use?"
"The boy is dying by inches!" I said, indignantly.
"Better dead than like those—" she said, with her bitter smile, nodding toward the chattering cosmopolitan crowd beyond us.