Amidst all that lacerated my heart, or tormented my thoughts, that
eventful day, I felt at least one joyous emotion, when, on entering our
little drawing-room, I found my uncle seated there.
The Captain had placed before him on the table a large Bible, borrowed
from the landlady. He never travelled, to be sure, without his own
Bible, but the print of that was small, and the Captain's eyes began
to fail him at night. So this was a Bible with large type; and a
candle was placed on either side of it; and the Captain leant his
elbows on the table, and both his hands were tightly clasped upon his
forehead--tightly, as if to shut out the tempter, and _force_ his
whole soul upon the page.
He sate, the image of iron courage; in every line of that rigid form
there was resolution. "I will _not_ listen to my heart; I _will_ read
the Book, and learn to suffer as becomes a Christian man."
There was such a pathos in the stern sufferer's attitude, that it spoke
those words as plainly as if his lips had said them.
Old soldier! thou hast done a soldier's part in many a bloody field;
but if I could make visible to the world thy brave soldier's soul, I
would paint thee as I saw thee then!--Out on this tyro's hand!
At the movement I made, the Captain looked up, and the strife he had
gone through was written upon his face.
"It has done me good," said he simply, and he closed the book.
I drew my chair near to him, and hung my arm over his shoulder.
"No cheering news then?" asked I in a whisper.
Roland shook his head, and gently laid his finger on his lips.