And he broke out into an emotion, which anybody who likes may consider unmanly.

He swore that Amelia was an angel, to which Osborne said aye with all his heart.

He, too, had been reviewing the history of their lives--and had seen her from her childhood to her present age, so sweet, so innocent, so charmingly simple, and artlessly fond and tender.
What a pang it was to lose all that: to have had it and not prized it! A thousand homely scenes and recollections crowded on him--in which he always saw her good and beautiful.

And for himself, he blushed with remorse and shame, as the remembrance of his own selfishness and indifference contrasted with that perfect purity.

For a while, glory, war, everything was forgotten, and the pair of friends talked about her only.
"Where are they ?" Osborne asked, after a long talk, and a long pause--and, in truth, with no little shame at thinking that he had taken no steps to follow her.