It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship.

Our young men are resolved to imbue their hands in the blood of the whites.

I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy.'" She stopped, her agitated face buried in her hands, and neither of us spoke.

The solemnity of her words and manner were most impressive.
"You feel, then, that the die is cast ?" asked De Croix, all lightness vanished from his voice.
"I believe we march forth from these walls to our death to-morrow." "But why," I protested, "should you, at least, take part in such hazard?
Your father's family, you tell us, will be safe from attack.
Surely, that home might also prove your refuge ?" The little woman, with the face of a girl, looked up at me indignantly through her tears.
"Lieutenant Helm marches with the troops," she answered quietly, "and I am his wife." I retain no memory, at this late day, of what conversation followed.

I know that De Croix in his easy carelessness about the future, sought to laugh at her fears and restore a feeling of hopefulness; but all my thoughts were elsewhere,--upon the grave dilemma in which we found ourselves, and my duty to these helpless ones upon every side.
I must have left the two standing there and conversing, though just how I moved, and why, is dim to me.