In those few moments she had fought a gallant battle with herself. She was white now, but there was new strength in her voice.
"Brave heart," said Terrence tenderly, "I knew what you would say!"
Then he went on to tell her of the regiment that was forming, and in which he had been offered a position in the line of promotion.
Something of the old fire came into her eyes. "Never mind position or promotion. Put on the private's uniform and fight in the ranks and be glad you've got the health and the strength and the right to do it. Though," she added, as an afterthought, "I'd try to be reconciled to it, even if you were a major-general." She smiled slyly.
There was no one to see him put his arm around her in the twilight and draw her close. The soft melody of the little stream, as it hurried noisily away, and the drowsy chirp of the birds came dreamily into the summer stillness. Up on the hill, like a parting benediction, a soft sunset glow trembled and shone around the flag.
"My sweetheart," he said, "I want to tell you something for you to remember for all time." A lump came into his throat, but he choked it down and went on. "It sounds like a joke in a comic paper for me to say you're the only woman I ever loved; but it's true, and you know it is, and it's the kind of love that couldn't die with the body of either of us, don't you know that, dear?"
A sob from Jean made him draw her closer still. "So I want to tell you now that, whatever happens, that will always be the same—nothing can ever change that. I want you to remember that. I haven't half deserved the love you've given me, but it's the sweetest thing God ever let a man dream of, and it's made me a better man, Jean, and there won't be a moment while I'm away that I won't see your dear face, because I'm fighting for you as well as for my dear country—to be the man you want me to be, and to make you proud of your volunteer."
The succeeding days were all confusion and preparation. To Terrence, they were days of drill, recruiting and unaccustomed labour; to Jean they were days of heartache, mingled with a strange pride that was neither wholly happiness nor wholly pain.
The day came at last when the regiment was ordered forward, and the whole town turned out to give its boys a rousing farewell. The love of fight, mingled with the stern discipline and cool courage of the Anglo-Saxon, was in the face of every man in the regiment.
Jean never forgot the spectacle as they formed in marching ranks. In spite of the pain at her heart, she was unreasonably proud at the sight of Jack in his new uniform—not that of a private, as she had wished him to go, but as first lieutenant, looking very handsome.