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Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte, 1819-1899

"Capitola the Madcap"

It was
several minutes before I could travel back from the pleasant land of
sleep and dreams and realize my real position. When I did I had
nothing to say. The inevitable ruin I felt had come, and crushed me
into a sort of dumb despair. Nor did my superior officers reproach
me--their revenge was too perfect. The captain called a sergeant to
take my gun, and I was marched off to my present prison. And,
Herbert, no sooner was I left alone here than sleep overcame me
again, like a strong man, and despite all the gloom and terror of my
situation, despite all of my thoughts of home and mother and Clara,
I slept like a tired child. But this awakening. Oh! this awakening.
Herbert!"
"Be of good courage. Let us hope that heaven will enable us to
confound the plots of the evil, and save you!"
"Ah, Herbert, that will be impossible. The duty of a soldier is
clear and stern; his punishment if he fails in it, swift and sure.
At the word of command he must march into the very jaws of death, as
is right. He must die or madden for the want of rest, rather than
fall asleep on his post, for if he does, his punishment is certain
and shameful death. Oh, my mother! Oh, Clara! Would heaven I had
fallen at Vera Cruz or Churubusco, rather than live to bring this
dreadful sorrow upon you," cried Traverse, covering his convulsed
face with his hands.


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