“I believe it! I feel it!” she answered, eagerly. “I know that while Heaven has the first place in your heart, I am sure of retaining my rightful portion there. I am not, indeed, I am not jealous of your devotion to what is so high and holy—only—”
“Only what?” inquired he, as she hesitated.
“Only I would rather you should serve your country, mankind, and above all, the cause of religion, by living, and not—” her words failed her again.
“To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late,” was his reply; “and, Hilary, ever since I can remember, it has
been my dream, my wish, my hope to devote my life—I do not mean to live, but to die—in some great, high, holy cause, something which may show that a Christian, with the hope of salvation and the promise of Heaven, is not afraid to do and dare all that a heathen warrior might have done with the poor promise of an earthly glory. But to no other ear than your own would I breathe this aspiration; who else would understand my feelings? In confiding to you the deepest passion of my soul, Hilary, I prove to you how I have merged my life in yours. To ordinary companions such thoughts do not find words to express them.”
“They do better,” said she, with a glowing cheek and sparkling eye; “they find actions. You have proved your sincerity again and again in your dauntless defiance of danger. Yes, and I will not draw you back; woman though I am I will not weaken you, nor bid you pause for my sake: rather let the thought of me nerve you in the hour of danger, make you stronger, braver, more intrepid in a worthy cause. And should our hope be fulfilled—ah! believe me, I will try to follow your example, and bear the agony for your sake, that you may wear a martyr’s crown!”
“My own, true-hearted love!” was his only answer.
CHAPTER XVIII.
“Love, I feel thy bitter smart
Wildly throbbing through my heart,