"And I will write my advertisement," said Charles. "It must be
published to-morrow, that I am obliged to stay here because my
country will not accept me as a soldier, and that I desire to give
private lessons, the proceeds of which are to be devoted to the
support of a wounded soldier."
"And I--what shall I do?" asked the old invalid, when he was alone.
"I must swallow my tears, and tell no one my thoughts. I shall
quietly accustom myself to the idea that the darling of my heart, my
Leonora, is to leave me, and that my old eyes are to see no more her
dear face, or my ears hear her voice. Ah, when she looked at me, I
felt as though it were spring in my heart, and the sun shining
there; and when I heard her voice I thought it music rejoicing my
soul. Now, how quiet and gloomy all around me will be in the small
house--no more sunshine or music! all will be gone when Leonora is
gone. And will she come back, then?--will not some bullet, some
sword-blade--hush, my thoughts! I must not betray them! Be still, my
heart, and weep! Be still and--" Tears choked his voice, and the
strong man, overwhelmed with grief, sank into his easy-chair and
sobbed aloud. After a long time he raised himself again and dried
his tears. "Fie, Sergeant Prohaska!" he said aloud. "You sit here
and cry like an old woman, and wring your hands in grief, instead of
being glad and thanking the Lord that a substitute has been found
for the invalid sergeant with the wooden leg.
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