"But it makes religion a slavery—a bondage—to be all the while under arms, on guard, watching orders. Always on the watch and expecting to be under fire—it is too much; it would make a gloomy, ugly life of it."
"But suppose you are under fire?" I said.
"What?" said he, looking and laughing again.
"If you are a good soldier in an enemy's country, always with work to do; will you wish to be off your guard, or off duty?"
"But what a life!" said Thorold.
"If you love your Captain?" said I.
He stopped and looked at me with one of the keenest looks of scrutiny I ever met. It seemed to scrutinize not me only, but the truth. I thought he was satisfied; for he turned away without adding anything more at that time. His mind was at work, however; for he broke down a small branch in his way and busied himself with it in sweeping the trunks of the trees as we went by; varying the occupation with a careful clearing away of all stones and sticks that would make my path rougher than it need be. Finally, giving me his hand to help me spring over a little rivulet that crossed our way.
"Here is an incongruity, now I think of it," said he, smiling. "How is it that you be on such good terms with a rebel? Ought you to have anything to do with me?"
"I may be friends with anybody in his private capacity," I answered in the same tone. "That does not compromise anything. It is only when—You know what I mean."