"Send it out to the soldiers," she suggested, and it was sent as her
gift.
"Now, my captive," said Gallus, drawing his stool near to her, "I want
you to tell me what you can remember of your story. Ah! you don't know
that for many days past we have dined together and that it had been your
fashion to sit with your arm round my old neck and call me your uncle.
Nay, child, you need not blush, for I am more than old enough to be your
father, let alone your uncle, and nothing but a father shall I ever be
to you."
"Why are you so good to me?" asked Miriam.
"Why? Oh! for several reasons. First, you were the friend of a comrade
of mine who often talked of you, but who now is dead. Secondly, you
were a sick and helpless thing whom I chanced to rescue in the great
slaughter, and who ever since has been my companion; and thirdly--yes,
I will say it, though I do not love to talk of that matter, I had a
daughter, who died, and who, had she lived, would have been of about
your age. Your eyes remind me of hers--there, is that not enough?
"But now for the story. Stay. I will tell you what I know of it. Marcus,
he whom they called The Fortunate, but whose fortune has deserted him,
was in love with you--like the rest of us.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360