Then he sprang up and walked to and fro for a long time. At last he
took Marian's photograph from his pocket and put it on his
dressing-table. He must be a man. He must hold true to his faith. He
screwed up his courage and went through the forms of the afternoon in
his room dimly lighted by lanterns in the street. He stood up in the
line before the Emperor, and again listened to his inspiring speech.
Now he felt sure that he would not fail. He placed himself opposite the
photograph when the order was given. He raised an imaginary gun and
aimed with assurance--but just then his eye fell upon the face which he
could barely distinguish. He saw Marian again as she had been when he
bade her farewell. True, she was as much a believer in the military
scheme of life as he was, but he knew by instinct that she would draw
the line somewhere. She was not created to be a martyr to her faith.
The order "Fire!" came, but Sam, instead of obeying, threw down his
musket and ran forward, seized the photograph and kissed it. He looked
up, half expecting to see a crowd of spectators eying him with
derision. He cast himself upon his bed with his clothes on and tossed
about for a long time, until at last sleep came to his relief.
When he awoke in the morning the sun had long been up. In the first
moments of waking and before he opened his eyes, he could not recall
what it was that was troubling him.
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