my house that night to relieve his pain. It will all blow over. I'm happy now that I have seen you. Ben will be up in a few days. You must return at once. You have no idea of the wild chaos at home. I left Jake in charge. I have implicit faith in him, but there's no telling what may happen. I will not spend another moment until you go." in peace The proud old man spoke of his own danger with easy assurance. He was absolutely certain, since the day of Mrs. Surratt's execution, that he would be railroaded to the gallows by the same methods. He had long looked on the end with indifference, and had ceased to desire to live except to see his loved ones again. In vain she warned him of danger. "My peril is nothing, my love," he answered, quietly. "At home, the horrors of a servile reign of terror have become a reality. These prison walls do not interest me. My heart is with our stricken people. You must go home. Our neighbour, Mr. Lenoir, is slowly dying. His wife will always be a child. Little Marion is older and more selfreliant. I feel as if they are our own children. There are so many who need us. They have always looked to me for guidance and help. You can do more for them than any one else. My calling is to heal others. You have always helped me. Do now as I ask you." At last she consented to leave for Piedmont on the following day, and he smiled. "Kiss Ben and Margaret for me and tell them that I'll be with them soon," he said, cheerily. He meant in the spirit, not the flesh. Not the faintest hope of life even flickered in his mind. In the last farewell embrace a faint tremor of the soul, half-sigh, half-groan, escaped his lips, and he drew her again to his breast, whispering: "Always my sweetheart, good, beautiful, brave and true!" WIT CHAPTER III THE JOY OF Living ITHIN two weeks after the departure of Mrs. Cameron and Margaret, the wounded soldier had left the hospital with Elsie's hand resting on his arm and her keen eyes watching his faltering steps. She had promised Margaret to take her place until he was strong again. She was afraid to ask herself the meaning of the songs that were welling up from the depth of her own soul. She told herself again and again that she was fulfilling her ideal of unselfish human service. Ben's recovery was rapid, and he soon began to give evidence of his boundless joy in the mere fact of life. He utterly refused to believe his father in danger. "What, my dad a conspirator, an assassin!" he cried, with a laugh. "Why, he wouldn't kill a flea without apologising to it. And as for plots and dark secrets, he never had a secret in his life and couldn't keep one if he had it. My mother keeps all the family secrets. Crime couldn't stick to him any more than dirty water to a duck's back!" "But we must secure his release on parole, that he may defend himself." "Of course. But we won't cross any bridges till we come to them. I never saw things so bad they couldn't be worse. Just think what I've been through. The war's over. Don't worry." He looked at her tenderly. "Get that banjo and play' Get Out of the Wilderness!"" His spirit was contagious and his good-humour resistless. Elsie spent the days of his convalescence in an unconscious glow of pleasure in his companionship. His handsome boyish face, his bearing, his whole personality, invited frankness and intimacy. It was a divine gift, this magnetism, the subtle meeting of quick intelligence, tact, and sympathy. His voice was tender and penetrating, with soft caresses in its tones. His vision of life was large and generous, with a splendid carelessness about little things that didn't count. Each day Elsie saw new and striking traits of his character which drew her. "What will we do if Stanton arrests you one of these fine days?" she asked him one day. "Afraid they'll nab me for something!" he exclaimed. "Well, that is a joke! Don't you worry. The Yankees know who to fool with. I licked 'em too many times for them to bother me any more." "I was under the impression that you got licked," Elsie observed. "Don't you believe it. We wore ourselves out whipping the other fellows." Elsie smiled, took up the banjo, and asked him to sing while she played. She had no idea that he could sing, yet to ner surprise he sang his camp-songs boldly, tenderly, and with deep, expressive feeling. |