CHAPTER VII.
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 leaned 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 sat 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.
