I don't deserve her, but I will.
We parted on our wedding-day, for orders to be off came suddenly,
and she would not let me go until I had given her my name to keep.
We were married in the morning, and at noon I had to go. Other women
wept as we marched through the town, but my brave Margaret kept her
tears till we were gone, smiling, and waving her hand to me,--the
hand that wore the wedding-ring,--till I was out of sight. That
image of her is before me day and night, and day and night her last
words are ringing in my ears,--
"'I give you freely, do your best. Better a true man's widow than a
traitor's wife.'
"Boys, I've only stood on the right side for a month; I've only
fought one battle, earned one honor; but I believe these poor
achievements are an earnest of the long atonement I desire to make
for five and twenty years of blind transgression. You say I fight
well. Have I not cause to dare much?--for in owning many slaves, I
too became a slave; in helping to make many freemen, I liberate
myself. You wonder why I refused promotion. Have I any right to it
yet? Are there not men who never sinned as I have done, and beside
whose sacrifices mine look pitifully small? You tell me I have no
ambition. I have the highest, for I desire to become God's noblest
work,--an honest man,--living, to make Margaret happy, in a love
that every hour grows worthier of her own,--dying, to make death
proud to take me.
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