"I don't know why you will persist in sending me there, sir," Magnus said, with just a touch of impatience. "That seems to be your favourite post. We have not spoken of San Carlos."
"No, I suppose all your talk has been of Fortress Monroe, Governor's Island, and West Point," said Mr. Erskine, in a mocking tone. "Those are the usual first posts for young second lieutenants."
"West Point!" Magnus repeated scornfully. "If you had the faintest idea, Mr. Erskine, what West Point is _without_ Cherry, you would know that San Carlos will be the ranking post in the country when she gets there!"
And the young man sprang to his feet, as if tenter hooks were restless things.
Mr. Erskine held out his hand. "Forgive me, my boy," he said. "I will not tease you any more. Go and find my treasure--and take her for _your_ treasure, and guard her with your life. I do not mean in the common sense of dying for her, but in the nobler, costlier way of living for her. Shield her from any touch of shame, from any sense of loss, from any shadow of pain or sorrow that is not Heaven-sent. Live so that she will be prouder of you every day. Magnus, my darling is a _trust_."
There was something very sweet and solemn too in the way Magnus took the extended hand, and dropping on his knee kissed it earnestly.
"As such I take her, sir. My most dear trust, for every hour I live."
But then he sprang up again, threw his arms round Mr. Erskine with a hug like a young bear, and with a joyous shout of "Ho for San Carlos!" darted away into the house to find Cherry.
If love does sometimes contrive to do for itself what the poet wished, and "annihilate time," over the "space," alas! it has generally no power. Those last days at home were to Magnus only quarter-days; but once in the cars, and the miles drew out a lengthening chain that fairly seemed to clank in his hearing. Two years now, almost, away from those dear faces; two years more without Cherry.
To be sure, she was coming to first-class camp; that was something. She had not said she would, but she must; or he should simply die, and the authorities would have to send him home.
As the train flew on, tossing everything behind its back, classmates began to straggle in, catching the express from one point or another; each State giving up its contingent of much-disgusted men, all equally gloomy and rebellious. What was the use of the old concern, anyhow? So they grumbled, keeping down each other's low spirits, and ever and anon launching forth upon the departed joys of the last eight weeks; opening their hearts less or more, according to the man. For in some coat pockets lay hid a little glove, carefully wrapped in rosy thoughts, and (I was going to say) here and there also a mitten, in different-hued tissue paper. But no, I take that back; nobody ever gets a mitten on furlough, which is perhaps the reason why so many engagements date back to just that point.