shoulders. "I read in one of my books lately a fairy tale, in which
there was a young girl, of whom it was said that a bad fairy had
bound her heart in iron, to prevent its full play; the girl was
constantly bewailing this fatality, saying, 'I can only like, but
never love.' Perhaps it is thus with me, but I do not weep over it,
like the foolish girl in the book."

"And was this what you had to tell me?" asked Charles Henry,
mockingly.

She gave him a look that sent the jeering smile from his lip.

"No, Charles Henry," said she, "this is not what I have to tell
you."

"Well, what is it then, Anna, for this wounds me?" said he
impatiently.

"Perhaps the other will do so also," said she, sadly. "But it must
come out, I cannot suppress it. Hear, Charles Henry, what I have to
say, and if it is not true, forgive me. I fear you do not go
willingly into the army, and that your heart does not beat with joy
at the thought of becoming a soldier."

"You are right," said Charles Henry, laughing, "I do not go
willingly; and how should it be otherwise? it is a wild, disorderly
life, and it strikes me it cannot be right for men who, our pastor
says, should love each other like brothers, to vie in cutting off
each other's limbs, and to fire upon each other without mercy or
pity, as if one were the butcher, the other the poor ox, who only