And round about them the battle roared and surged and thundered.
Her cousin has told me that such was the pathos and passion of her tones, her looks, her gestures, as she uttered these words (which hardly seemed unconventional in their fearful setting), that the eyes of the dying soldier grew moist. But Captain Smith, standing like a granite cliff:
“There is nothing to forgive. You did your duty as you saw it. So did I when I ran that officer through.—Ah, pardon me: I had forgotten you. Can I do anything for you?” added he in a tender voice, as he kneeled beside him.
“Unbutton my coat, please; I am choking.”
The captain shuddered as he saw the broad gash in the breast of his enemy. “I am sorry I hit you so hard.”
“It is all right,” replied he, wearily. “I tried to kill you, and you killed me, that’s all. But thank you for your kind words.”
The captain’s eyes filled with tears. “I hope it is not as bad as you think. I’ll send you a surgeon immediately. Meanwhile, keep up your spirits.” And taking the wounded man’s hand in his, he pressed it softly. Then, rising, “Good-by,” said he, with a cheering smile, and moved towards the door.
It was then that Mary, catching, for the first time, a view of the right side of his face, saw the blood trickling down his cheek.
“You are wounded already,” she cried in terror.
“Yes; wounded beyond healing,” said the captain of the Myrmidons; and with a cold bow, he passed out of the door and into the tempest of the battle.