And suddenly it seemed to me horrible and monstrous that this heavenly tranquillity should be shattered by the red blast of war!—that men could actually be planning to devastate this quiet land where already the new harvest promised, tender and green; where cattle grazed in blossoming meadows; where swallows twittered and fowls clucked; where smoke drifted from chimneys and the homely sights and sounds of a peaceful town sweetened the evening silence.
Then the thought of my own helplessness went through me like a spear, and I groaned,—not meaning to,—and turned over on my pillow.... And presently felt her hand lightly on my shoulder.
"Is it pain?" she asked softly.
"No, only the weariness of life," I muttered.
She was silent, but presently her hand smoothed back my hair, and passed in a sort of gentle rhythm across my forehead and my hair.
"If I lie here long enough," said I bitterly, "I may have to beg a crust of you. So get you to your sewing and see that you earn enough against a beggared cripple's need."
"You mock me," she said in a low voice.
"Why, no," said I. "If I am to remain crippled my funds will dwindle and go, and one day I shall sit in the sun like any poor old soldier, with palm lifted for alms——"
"I beg—I beg you——" she stammered; and her hand closed on my lips as though to stifle the perverse humour.
"Would you offer me charity if I remain crippled?" I managed to say.