The portrait of her mother hung over the mantel—a life-size oil painting by a noted French artist, the same brilliant laughing eyes, the same deep golden brown hair, its wayward ringlets playing loosely about her fine forehead and shell-like ears.

Beyond a doubt this pretty mother with the sunshine of France in her blood had known how to flirt in her day-and her beautiful daughter was enough like that picture to have been her twin sister.

On the mantel beneath this portrait sat photographs in solid silver frames, one of Wendell Phillips, one of William Lloyd Garrison and one of John C. Fremont, the first Republican candidate for President. Directly opposite on the wall hung an oil painting of John Brown. Ned caught the flash of the fanatic in the old madman's eye and was startled at the striking resemblance to Senator Winter. He had never thought of it before. Gilbert Winter might have been his brother in the flesh as he undoubtedly was in spirit.

The thought chilled. He looked out the window with a sigh and wondered how far the old tyrant would carry his hatred of the South into his daughter's life. His eye rested for a moment on the row of lilacs in full bloom in the garden and caught the flash of the big new leaves of the magnolia which shadowed the rear wall. The early honeysuckle had begun to blossom on the south side, and the violet beds were a solid mass of gorgeous blue. Through the open window came the rich odor of the long rows of narcissus in full white glory where the jonquils had flamed a month ago.

What a beautiful world to be beaten into a scarred battlefield!

For just a moment the thought wrung the heart of youth and love. It was hard just when the tenderest and sweetest impulses that ever filled his soul were clamoring for speech, to turn his back on all, say good-bye and go-to war-perhaps to kill his own brother.

And there could be no mistake, war had come. Overhead he caught the steady tramp of Senator Winter's feet, a caged lion walking back and forth with hungry eyes turned toward the South. He could feel his deadly hostility through the very walls.

A battery of artillery suddenly roared through the streets, the dull heavy rattle of its wheels over the cobblestones, and the crack of the driver's whip echoing and reëchoing through the house. Behind it came the steady tramp, tramp, of a regiment of infantry, the loud call of their volunteer officers ringing sharply their orders at the turn of the street. Far off on the Capitol Hill he heard the sharp note of a bugle and the rattle of horses' hoofs. Every hour the raw troops were pouring into the city from the North, the East and the West.

He wondered with a strange catch in his throat what difference this was going to make between him and the girl he loved. There was no longer any question about the love. He marvelled that he had been too stupid to realize it and speak before this shadow had fallen between them. She knew that his sympathies were with the South and he knew with equal certainty she had never believed that he would

fight to destroy the Union when the test should come. He dreaded the shock when he must tell her.

His heart grew sick with fear. What chance had he with everything against him-her old, fanatical father who loved her with the tender devotion of his strong manhood-her own blind admiration for the new President, whose coming had brought warand worst of all he must go and leave John by her side! His brother had given no hint of his real feelings, but his deeds had been more eloquent than words. He had seen Betty every week since the day they had met-sometimes twice. This he knew. There may have been times he didn't know.

All the more reason why he must put the thing to the test. Besides he must speak. His hour had struck. His country was calling, and he must go -to meet Death or Glory. The woman he loved must

know.

He heard the soft rustle of her dress on the stairs and sprang to his feet. She paused in the doorway a vision of ravishing beauty in full evening dress, her bare arms and exquisite neck and throat gleaming in the shadows.

She smiled graciously, her brown eyes sparkling with the conscious power which youth and beauty can never conceal.

She held out her soft warm hand and his trembling cold fingers grasped it.

"I'm sorry to have kept you, Ned," she began softly, "but I was dressing for the reception at the White House. I promised Mrs. Lincoln to help her."

"I didn't mind the wait, Miss Betty," he answered soberly. "Come into the garden-I can talk better

there among your flowers-I never mind waiting for you."

"Why?"

"I've time to dream."

"Before you must wake?" she laughed.

"I'm afraid it's so this time

99

"Why so serious-what's the matter?"

"I'm going to the front."

"So are thousands of brave men, Ned. I've always

known you'd go when the test came."

He bit his lips and was silent.

he had to say it:

It was hard, but

"I am going to fight for the South, Miss Betty." The silence was painful. She looked steadily into his dark earnest eyes. There was something too big and fine in them to be met with anger or reproach. He was deadly pale and waited breathlessly for her to speak.

"I'm sorry," she breathed softly.

"You know that it costs me something to say this to you," he stammered.

"Yes, I know"

"But it must be. It's a question of principle-a question that cuts to the bone of a fellow's life and character. A man must be true to what he believes to be right, mustn't he?"

His voice was tender, wistful, pleading. The sweet, young face upturned to his caught his mood:

"Yes, Ned."

"I couldn't be a real man and do less, could I?" "No-but I'm sorry"-she paused and suddenly

asked, "Your brother agrees with you?"

Ned frowned: "Why do you ask that question?"

"Because I was sure that he was on our side

"Is that all?”

"And I've always supposed he was a sort of guardian

"Only because he has always been my big brother and I've loved and admired him very much. I cried my eyes out the day he left home out in Missouri and came East to college."

"And you're going to fight him?” "It's possible."

"It's horrible!"

"And yet, men who are not savages could only do such things drawn by the mightiest forces that move a human soul-you must know that, Miss Betty." "Yes."

"There's only one thing in life that's bigger"And that?"

"Is love. I've held it too high and holy a word to speak lightly. I shall tell but one woman that I love her99

She looked at him tenderly:

"You glorious, foolish boy!"

Pale and trembling he took her hand, led her to a seat and sank on his knees by her side.

"I love you, Betty!" he gasped. "I've loved you from the moment we met, tenderly, madly, reverently.' I've been afraid to touch your hand lately lest you feel the pounding of my heart and know. And now it's come this hour when I must say I love you and good-bye in the same breath! Be gentle and sweet to

me.

I'm afraid to ask if you love me. It's too good to be true. I'm not worthy to even touch your little hand-and yet I'm daring to hold it in mine