one!

The house was quite full, as well as the court--for the old man's
grandchildren and great-grandchildren formed a large congregation; and
all those to whom he had done good during his life, whom he had
assisted with his counsel or supported in their sorrow--how many there
were! and yet the greater part was absent, covering the
battle-field!--and among all his sons and grandsons, only that one
cripple was present, and he was not considered as a man!

They had all their dead to mourn--all their peculiar sorrows, but none
more than the high-minded Judith, and the poor cripple,--and yet they
alone wept not. A restless fever burned within them, and, instead of
tears, sparks of fire seemed to burst from their eyes.

In the midst of the weeping and lamentation, Judith beckoned the
cripple aside.

"David!" she exclaimed, taking the youth's damp, cold hand, "your
grandfather lies stretched out before you, and yet you stand beside
the coffin without shedding a tear! what are you thinking of? Last
night I heard you sighing and tossing on your bed--you never
slept--what were you thinking of then, David?"

The cripple hung his head in silence.

"David, if you were a strong, sound man--if you could hold a sword or
a lance, instead of those crutches--would you hang your head in
silence as you do now?"

The cripple raised his glowing face, and his large, dark eyes met
Judith's with such a gleam of enthusiasm, it seemed as if the ardent
spirit had forgotten for a moment the weakness of its mortal dwelling.

"And you will never be happy," she continued; "no joys await your lot
in this life, and yet who knows how long that life may be. Speak!
should death appear before you in its most brilliant form--more
glorious than on the battle-field--and bid you cast away your crutches
and embrace the weapons of destruction, giving you all you loved on
earth as a funeral pile to perish around you, that none should remain
to whom your thoughts might return from the other world"--

"I do not understand you."

"You _will_ not, perhaps. The world is still fair to you, even amidst
ruins, and blasted by dishonour; unfortunate as you are, life is still
dear--even your crutches are not to be exchanged for wings!"

"Oh! speak not thus; how often would I have given the life I abhor for
the death I envy!" exclaimed the unhappy youth; and added, in a lower
tone, "for the death of glory!"

"And what death would be more glorious than yours? on