LITMIR.BIZ

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of principles could combine for their own peace and safety, leave the old Union, form a new one and settle it in their own way.

      The North said no—the South said yes. This conviction bigger than party platforms was the brooding terror which brought the sense of tragedy to young and old, the learned and the unlearned—that made young men see visions and maids dream of mighty deeds.

      The Southern boy's eyes had again rested on the vacant chairs of the Senators from South Carolina with a set look in their depths.

      The crowd turned with sudden stir to the door of the Senate Chamber.

      "Look," Jennie cried, "that's Mrs. Clem Clay of Alabama—how pale and beautiful she is! The Senator's going to make the speech of his life to-day. She's scared—Ah, that dress, that dress—isn't it a dream? Did you ever see such a piece of velvet—and—do look at that dear little gold hand holding the skirt up just high enough to see the exquisite lace on her petticoat—"

      "Where's the golden hand—I don't see it?" Dick broke in skeptically.

      "Don't you see the chain hanging from her waist?"

      "Yes, I see that."

      "Follow it with your eye and you'll see the hand. The Bayard sisters introduced them from Paris, you know."

      The boy had ceased to listen to Jennie's chatter. His eye had suddenly rested on a group of three men seated in the diplomatic gallery—one evidently of high official position by the deference paid him. The man on the left of the official was young, handsome, slender, and pulled the corners of his mustache with a slow lazy touch of his graceful hand. His eyes were fixed on Jennie with a steady gaze. The Minister from Sardinia, of the Court of Victor Emmanuel, sat on the right, bowing and gesticulating with an enthusiasm out of all proportion to the importance of the conversation.

      Behind this group sat a fourth man who leaned forward occasionally and whispered to the official. His face was in shadow and the only thing Dick could see was the thick dark brown beard which covered his regular features and a pair of piercing black eyes.

      "For heaven's sake, Jennie," the boy cried at last, "who is that villain in the Diplomatic gallery?"

      "Where?"

      "In the corner there on the right."

      "Oh, that's the Sardinian Minister—King Victor Emmanuel's new drummer of trade for Genoa. He's getting ahead of the French, too."

      "No—no, I don't mean that little rat. I mean the big fellow with the heavy jaw and a face like a rattlesnake. He's trying to charm you too."

      Jennie laughed.

      "Silly! That's the new Secretary of War, Joseph Holt."

      "A scoundrel, if God ever made one—"

      "Because he looks at me?"

      "No—that shows his good taste. It's the way he looks at you and moves his crooked mouth and the way he bends his big flat head forward."

      "Rubbish—he's a loyal Southerner—and if we have to fight he'll be with us."

      "Yes—he—will!"

      "Of course, he will. He's careful now. He's in old Buck's cabinet. Wait and see. He called on Mr. Davis last night."

      "That's nothing—so did old Seward—"

      "Different—Seward's a Black Republican from New York—Holt's a Southern Democrat from Mississippi."

      "And who's the young knight by his side with the dear little mustache to which he seems so attached?"

      Jennie looked in silence for a moment.

      "I never saw him before. He's handsome, isn't he?"

      "Looks to me like a young black snake just shed his skin waiting for that old adder to show him how to strike."

      "Dick—"

      "God save the Queen! They're coming here—they're coming for you—"

      The Secretary of War had nodded in recognition of Jennie, risen suddenly, and moved toward the gallery exit with his slender companion.

      "Nonsense, Dick—he only bowed because he saw me staring—"

      "He's bringing that mustache to meet you—"

      The boy turned with a scowl toward the door of their gallery and saw the Secretary of War slowly making his way through the crowd to their seats.

      "I told you so—"

      Jennie blushed and smiled in friendly response to the Secretary's awkward effort at Southern politeness.

      "Miss Barton, may I ask a little favor of you?"

      "Certainly, Mr. Holt. Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Welford of Virginia."

      The Secretary bowed stiffly and Dick nodded his head with indifference.

      "The Italian Minister with whom I've just been talking wishes the honor of an introduction for his Secretary. Miss Jennie, will you meet him?"

      "Certainly—"

      "He's looking forward to the possible new Empire of the South," Holt whispered, "and proposes at an early day to forestall the French—"

      Dick threw him a look of scorn as he returned to the door and rose with a scowl.

      "I'll go out and get fresh air."

      "Don't go—"

      "I can't breathe in here. Two's company and three's a crowd."

      She seized his arm:

      "Please sit down, Dick."

      "I'll be back directly—"

      In spite of her protest he bounded up the steps of the gallery, turned sharply to the right, avoided the intruders and disappeared in the crowd.

      The Secretary of War bowed again:

      "Miss Barton, permit me to introduce to you Signor Henrico Socola, Secretary to His Excellency, the Minister of Sardinia."

      The slender figure bent low with an easy grace.

      "Pleased to meet you, Signor Socola," Jennie responded, lifting the heavy lashes from her lustrous brown eyes with the slightest challenge to his.

      "The pleasure is all mine, Mad'moiselle," he gravely replied.

      "You'll excuse me now if I hurry on?" the Secretary said, again bowing and disappearing in the crowd.

      "Mr. Holt tells me, Miss Barton, that you know every Senator on the floor."

      "Yes. My father has been in Congress and the Senate for twenty years."

      "You'll explain the drama to me to-day when the curtain rises?"

      "If I can."

      "I'll be so much obliged—" he paused and the even white teeth smiled pleasantly. "I'm pretty well up on American history but confess a little puzzled to-day. Your Southern Senators are really going to surrender their power here without a struggle?"

      "What do you mean?" the girl asked with a slight frown.

      "That your Democratic party has still a majority in both the House and the Senate. If the Southern members simply sit still in their places, the incoming administration of Abraham Lincoln will be absolutely powerless. The new President can not even call a cabinet to his side without their consent."

      "The North has elected their President," Jennie answered with decision. "The South scorns to stoop to the dishonor of cheating them out of it. They've won the election. They can have it. The South will go and build a government of her own—as we built this one—"

      "And fight twenty-three million people of the North?"

      "If forced to—yes!"

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