At length, however, Bacon, whose knowledge of human nature had penetrated the depths of Hansford's heart, and who felt deeply for his favourite, gave him the signal to advance somewhat in front of their comrades, and the following conversation took place:
“And so, my friend,” said Bacon, in the mild, winning voice, which he knew so well how to assume; “and so, my friend, you have renounced your dearest hopes in life for this glorious enterprise.”
Hansford only answered with a sigh.
“Take it not thus hardly,” continued Bacon. “Think of your loss as a sacrifice to liberty. Look to the future for your happiness, to a redeemed and liberated country for your home—to glory as your bride.”
“Alas!” said Hansford, “glory could never repay the loss of happiness. Believe me, General, that personal fame is not what I covet. Far better would it be for me to have been born and reared in obscurity, and to pass my brief life with those I love, than for the glittering bauble, glory, to give up all that is dear to the heart.”
“And do you repent the course you have taken,” asked Bacon, with some surprise.
“Repent! no; God forbid that I should repent of any sacrifice which I have made to the cause of my country. But it is duty that prompts me, not glory. For as to this selfsame will-o'-the-wisp, which seems to allure so many from happiness, I trust it not. I am much of the little Prince Arthur's mind—
'By my Christendom,
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long.'
Duty is the prison which at last keeps man from enjoying his own happier inclination.”
“There you are wrong, Hansford,” said Bacon, “duty is the poor drudge, which, patient in its harness, pursues the will of another. Glory is the wild, unconfined eagle, that impatient of restraint would soar to a heaven of its own.”