"
Her eyes closed as she spoke; a deadly faintness and coldness passed
over her; and she gasped for breath. A moment, and the resolute courage
in her conquered; her eyes opened and rested on the war-worn faces of
her "children"--rested in a long, last look of unspeakable wistfulness
and tenderness.
"I cannot speak as I would," she said at length, while her voice grew
very faint. "But I have loved you. All is said!"
All was uttered in those four brief words. "She had loved them." The
whole story of her young life was told in the single phrase. And the
gaunt, battle-scarred, murderous, ruthless veterans of Africa who heard
her could have turned their weapons against their own breasts, and
sheathed them there, rather than have looked on to see their darling
die.
"I have been too quick in anger sometimes--forgive it," she said gently.
"And do not fight and curse among yourselves; it is bad amid brethren.
Bury my Cross with me, if they will let you; and let the colors be over
my grave, if you can. Think of me when you go into battle; and tell them
in France----"
For the first time her eyes filled with great tears as the name of her
beloved land paused upon her lips. She stretched her arms out with a
gesture of infinite longing, like a lost child that vainly seeks its
mother.
"If I could only see France once more! France----"
It was the last word upon her utterance; her eyes met Cecil's in one
fleeting, upward glance of unutterable tenderness, then, with her hands
still stretched out westward to where her country was, and with the
dauntless heroism of her smile upon her face like light, she gave a
tired sigh as of a child that sinks to sleep, and in the midst of her
Army of Africa the Little One lay dead.
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