Before the Dawn - Joseph A. Altsheler

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exerted its influence upon Winthrop, Stormont and all the others. Winthrop was good-natured, avowing that he had no cause of quarrel with anybody if nobody had any with him, and Redfield showed clearly his relief. It seemed to Prescott that the Member of Congress had gone further than he intended.

      No breath of these stormy airs was allowed to blow from the smoking-room upon the ladies, and when Prescott presently rejoined them he found vivacity and gaiety still prevalent. Prescott's gaze dwelt longest on Miss Harley, who was talking to the Secretary. He noted again the look of admiration in the eyes of Mr. Sefton, and that feeling of jealousy which he would not have recognized had it not been for Talbot's half-jesting words returned to him. He would not deny to himself now that Helen Harley attracted him with singular force. There was about her an elusive charm; perhaps it was the slight trace of foreign look and manner that added to her Southern beauty a new and piquant grace.

      Mr. Sefton was talking in smooth, liquid tones, and the others had drawn back a little in deference to the all-powerful official, while the girl was pleased, too. She showed it in her slightly parted lips, her vivid eyes and the keen attention with which she listened to all that he said.

      Mrs. Markham followed Prescott's look. An ironical smile trembled for a moment on her lips. Then she said:

      "The Secretary, the astute Mr. Sefton, is in love."

      She watched Prescott keenly to notice the effect upon him of what she said, but he commanded his countenance and replied with a pretense of indifference:

      "I think so, too, and I give him the credit of showing extremely good taste."

      Mrs. Markham said no more upon the subject, and presently Prescott asked of Miss Harley the privilege of taking her home when the club adjourned, after the universal custom among the young in Southern towns.

      "My shoulder is a little lame yet, but I am sure that I shall guard you safely through the streets if you will only let me try," he added gallantly.

      "I shall be pleased to have you go," she replied.

      "I would lend you my carriage and horses," said Mrs. Markham, who stood by, "but two of my horses were killed in front of an artillery wagon at Antietam, another fell valourously and in like manner at Gettysburg, and the fourth is still in service at the front. I am afraid I have none left, but at any rate you are welcome to the carriage."

      Prescott laughingly thanked her but declined. The Secretary approached at that moment and asked Miss Harley if he might see her home.

      "I have just accepted Captain Prescott's escort, but I thank you for the honour, Mr. Sefton," she replied.

      Mr. Sefton flashed Prescott a single look, a look that the young Captain did not like; but it was gone in a moment like a streak of summer lightning, and the Secretary was as bland and smiling as ever.

      "Again do I see that we civilians cannot compete with the military," he said.

      "It was not his shoulder straps; he was quicker than you," said Mrs. Markham with a soft laugh.

      "Then I shall not be a laggard the next time," replied the Secretary in a meaning tone.

      The meeting of the club came to an end a half-hour later, but first there was a little ceremony. The coffee was brought in for the third and last time and all the cups were filled.

      "To the cause!" said General Markham, the host. "To the cause that is not lost!"

      "To the cause that is right, the cause that is not lost," all repeated, and they drank solemnly.

      Prescott's feelings as he drank the toast were of a curiously mingled nature. There was a mist in his eyes as he looked upon this gathering of women and one-armed men all turning so brave a face and so bold a heart to bad fortune. And he wished, too, that he could believe as firmly as they in the justice of the cause. The recurring doubts troubled him. But he drank the toast and then prepared for departure.

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      Nearly all the guests left the Markham house at the same time and stood for a few moments in the white Greek portico, bidding one another good-night. It seemed to Prescott that it was a sort of family parting.

      The last good-by said, Robert and Helen started down the street, toward the Harley home six or seven blocks away. Her gloved hand rested lightly on his arm, but her face was hidden from him by a red hood. The cold wind was still blustering mightily about the little city and she walked close beside him.

      "I cannot help thinking at this moment of your army. Which way does it lie, Robert?" she asked.

      "Off there," he replied, and he pointed northward.

      "And the Northern army is there, too. And Washington itself is only two hundred miles away It seems to me sometimes that the armies have always been there. This war is so long. I remember I was a child when it began, and now——"

      She paused, but Prescott added:

      "It began only three years ago."

      "A long three years. Sometimes when I look toward the North, where Washington lies, I begin to wonder about Lincoln. I hear bad things spoken of him here, and then there are others who say he is not bad."

      "The 'others' are right, I think."

      "I am glad to hear you say so. I feel sorry for him, such a lonely man and so unhappy, they say. I wish I knew all the wrong and right of this cruel struggle."

      "It would take the wisdom of the angels for that."

      They walked on a little farther in silence, passing now near the Capitol and its surrounding group of structures.

      "What are they doing these days up there on Shockoe?" asked Prescott.

      "Congress is in session and meets again in the morning, but I imagine it can do little. Our fate rests with the armies and the President."

      A deep mellow note sounded from the hill and swelled far over the city. In the dead silence of the night it penetrated like a cannon shot, and the echo seemed to Prescott to come back from the far forest and the hills beyond the James. It was quickly followed by another and then others until all Richmond was filled with the sound.

      Prescott felt the hand upon his arm clasp him in nervous alarm.

      "What does that noise mean?" he cried.

      "It's the Bell Tower!" she cried, pointing to a dark spire-like structure on Shockoe Hill in the Capitol Square.

      "The Bell Tower!"

      "Yes; the alarm! The bell was to be rung there when the Yankees came! Don't you hear it? They have come! They have come!"

      The tramp of swift feet increased and grew nearer, there was a hum, a murmur and then a tumult in the streets; shouts of men, the orders of officers and galloping hoof-beats mingled; metal clanked against metal; cannon rumbled and their heavy iron wheels dashed sparks of fire from the stones as they rushed onward. There was a noise of shutters thrown back and lights appeared at innumerable windows. High feminine voices shouted to each other unanswered questions. The tumult swelled to a roar, and over it all thundered the great bell, its echo coming back in regular vibrations from the hills and the farther shore of the river.

      After the first alarm Helen was quiet and self-contained. She had lived three years amid war and its tumults, and what she saw now was no more than she had trained herself to expect.

      Prescott drew her farther back upon the sidewalk, out of the way of the cannon and the galloping cavalry, and he, too, waited quietly

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