To this there was something
in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned
to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that
before my Uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making
to the father had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees,
and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards
him. The blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which were waxing
cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel,
the heart, rallied back; the film forsook his eyes for a moment; he
looked up wishfully in my Uncle Toby's face, then cast a look upon
his boy--and that ligament, fine as it was, was never broken."
How excellent all that is! and how perfectly would the scene have
ended had it closed with the tender and poetic image which thus
describes the dying soldier's commendation of his orphan boy to the
care of his brother-in-arms! But what of this, which closes the scene,
in fact?
"Nature instantly ebbed again; the film returned to its place; the
pulse fluttered--stopped--went on--throbbed--stopped again--moved,
stopped.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246