rom all this suffering and
mental pain. Marcus, my boy, help him. It is the first time I ever
asked you to arm me as a soldier. Quick, boy, and let us get it done."

Marcus sprang to his father's side, while, heavy and slow, Serge, as he
rose, tottered here and there as he busied himself over a task that had
not fallen to him for many long years, while a faint groan of misery
escaped his lips from time to time before the last metal loop had been
forced over its stud and then drawn into its place, the last buckle
drawn tight, and the armed cheek-straps of the great Robin helmet passed
beneath the general's chin.

These final preparations made, Cracis stood, grave and thoughtful,
asking himself whether there was anything more he wished to do, anything
in the way of orders to give his servant and his son before he left his
home.

"Leave me now, Marcus," he said. "I wish to be alone for a while.
Well," he continued, as the boy stood frowning and looking at him
wistfully, "why do you stay? You want to ask me something before I go?"

These words stirred the boy into action, and he started to his father's
side; but, though his lips parted, no words came.

"The time is gliding away, Marcus, my boy," said Cracis, sadly. "Come,
speak out. You want to ask some favour before I go?"

"Yes, father, but after what you have said I hardly dare," cried the
boy, hoarsely.

"Speak out, my son, boldly and bravely," said Cracis. "What is it you
wish to say?"

"That there is yet time, father, before you go."

"Time for what?" said Cracis, frowning as if he grasped what his son was
about to say.

"Time for you to withdraw your command," cried the boy, desperately.
"Father, I can't help it; I could not stay behind here with you leaving
home for the wars. You must take me with you after all."

Cracis frowned heavily.

"Is this my son speaking?" he said, harshly. "After the commands I have
given you--after the way in which I have arranged for you to represent
me here, and take my place in all things? Where are all my teachings
about duty--have all flown to the winds?"

"No, no, father," cried the boy, passionately; "but you cannot tell how
I feel. You do not know what it is to be left alone, and for me to see
you go."

"You are wrong, my boy; I do know," cried Cracis; "and I may answer you
and say, neither do you know what it is for me to give up my happy home
and all belonging to me, to go hence never to return."