“Yon _gentleman_?” said Lizzie, in great dismay. “I thought he was a minister; and eh, to think of _him_ puttin’ on fires and waitin’ at the table! I would far sooner be a woman mysel’.” “And have you any objection to be a woman apart from that?” said I. “I did not think you had been so ambitious, Lizzie. What would _you_ do if you were a man?” Lizzie’s colour rose, and her work fell from her hand. “I would gang to the wars with the Captain,” cried the girl, “I would aye make a spring in before him where danger was. I would send word every day how he did, and what he was doing. I would stand by our ain flag if they hacked me in pieces. I wouldna let the Hielanders stay still, no a moment!--I would dash them down on the enemy wi’ a’ their bayonets, and cry ‘Scotland and the Queen!’ and if we were killed, wha’s heeding!--it would be worth a man’s while to die!” This outburst was more than I could bear. I forgot to think it was only Lizzie, a woman and a child, that spoke. I put my hands over my eyes to shut out the prospect she brought before me, but only saw the picture all the clearer, as my hand, with all its warm pulses beating, shut out the daylight. I could see Harry rushing before them with his sword drawn. I could hear his voice pealing out over their heads; I could see the smoke close over him and swallow him up. Ah, heaven!--pictures and stories are made out of such scenes. This creature by my side had flamed up into exulting enthusiasm at the thought. How many hearts attended those charging regiments, breaking against each other, heart upon heart! It came to my heart to wonder, suddenly, whether there might not be some young Russian woman, like me, imagining that fight. Her husband and my Harry might meet under those dreadful flags,--she and I, would not we meet, too, in our agony? I held out my arms to her with a cry of anguish--we were sisters, though _they_ were foes. When I looked up Lizzie was crying bitterly, partly with her own excitement, partly, because she saw how cruel her suggestion had been to me. She did not mean it so, poor child. Baby sat playing all the time among his cushions, crowing to himself over the bright-coloured ball he had found under his heap of toys. I thought to myself he would laugh all the same whatever happened, and wondered how I should bear to hear him. But that was enough, that was too much. I stopped myself, as best I could, from going on any further. I got some linen that had to be cut out, and rose up to do it;--it was very delicate work. If I were not very careful, a snip of the scissors, too much or too little, might spoil all the stuff; for Harry was very fastidious, you know, about all his things, like most young men. It took some trouble to steady my hand enough--but I did manage it. I wonder what the Russian woman did, to calm _her_ agitation down.