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 one of them, of which one it was impossible to guess, for both were very kind to him and very careful of him. The husband and wife must have loved each other dearly, for if they were not looking into each other’s eyes their glances at least followed one direction, as if they could not but see, feel, and think the same thing.

The old man, looking back for the last time to his mother country, sobbed more painfully than the rest. He had no hope, as they had, of returning if better days should come. He wept because he had to carry his old bones to a strange country, because he could not lay them down to rest in his native land. The young man, tenderly consoling him, led him on after the rest, that the painful moment might not be prolonged. But the wife lingered for a moment; she could not turn her eyes away from her beloved country, the country of martyrs, whose number she was increasing.

A soldier, impatient with her delay, was in the act of forcing her on with his bay-