wn. But for you, and I had never
been--"

"A soldier, you would say," whispered a soft voice, as a light hand gently
touched my shoulder. "I had come," continued she, "to thank you for a gift
no gratitude can repay,--my father's life; but truly, I did not think to
hear the words you have spoken; nor having heard them, can I feel their
justice. No, Mr. O'Malley, deeply grateful as I am to you for the service
you once rendered myself, bound as I am by every tie of thankfulness, by
the greater one to my father, yet do I feel that in the impulse I had given
to your life, if so be that to me you owe it, I have done more to repay
my debt to you, than by all the friendship, all the esteem I owe you; if,
indeed, by my means, you became a soldier, if my few and random words
raised within your breast that fire of ambition which has been your
beacon-light to honor and to glory, then am I indeed proud."

"Alas, alas, Lucy!--Miss Dashwood, I would say,--forgive me, if I know not
the very words I utter. How has my career fulfilled the promise that gave
it birth? For you, and you only, to gain your affection, to win your heart,
I became a soldier; hardship, danger, even death itself were courted by me,
supported by the one thought that you had cared for or had pitied me; and
now, and now--"

"And now," said she, while her eyes beamed upon me with a very flood of
tenderness, "is it nothing that in my woman's heart I have glowed with
pride at triumphs I could read of, but dared not share in? Is it nothing
that you have lent to my hours of solitude and of musing the fervor of that
career, the maddening enthusiasm of that glorious path my sex denied me?
I have followed you in my thoughts across the burning plains of the
Peninsula, through the long hours of the march in the dreary nights, even
to the battle-field. I have thought of you; I have dreamed of you; I have
prayed for you."

"Alas, Lucy, but not loved me!"

The very words, as I spoke them, sank with a despairing cadence upon my
heart. Her hand, which had fallen upon mine, trembled violently; I pressed
my lips upon it, but she moved it not. I dared to look up; her head was
turned away, but her heaving bosom betrayed her emotion.

"No, no, Lucy," cried I, passionately, "I will not deceive myself; I ask
for more than you can give me. Farewell!"

Now, and for the last time, I pressed her hand once more to my lips; my hot
tears fell fast upon it. I turned to go, and threw one la