“The committee of German refugees in New York, in view of the late news from Europe, have hopes that freedom is not yet extinguished in their ancient fatherland. They have determined upon once more returning to it, and taking part in the struggle again begun in Baden and the Palatinate. Impressed by the gallantry displayed by you in the late Mexican war, with your protective kindness to their countrymen who served under you—and above all, your well-known devotion to the cause of liberty—they have unanimously resolved to offer you the leadership in this enterprise. While aware of its perils—as also of your courage to encounter them—they can promise you no reward save that of glory and a nation’s gratitude. To achieve this, they offer you a nation’s trust. Say, sir, are you prepared to accept it?”
Some half-dozen names were appended, at which Maynard simply glanced. He knew the men, and had heard of the movement.
“I accept,” he said, after a few seconds spent in reflection. “You can carry that answer back to the committee.”
“Carry back an answer! My dear Maynard, I come to carry you back.”
“Must I go directly?”
“This very day. The rising in Baden has begun, and you know revolutions won’t wait for any one. Every hour is important. You are expected back by the next boat. I hope there’s nothing to prevent it? What! There is something?”
“There is; something rather awkward.”
“Not a woman? No—no! You’re too much of a soldier for that.”
“No; not a woman.”
As Maynard said this a strange expression came over his countenance, as if he was struggling against the truth.