if they chose, and they were being attacked because
their prominence aroused jealousy. Slavery was a side issue, a mere
pretext. If it were not convenient to hand, some other excuse would be
used. Here in Charleston, the first home of secession, among people who
were charming in manner and kind, the feeling was very strong upon him.

He left the house after luncheon, and, following Madame Delaunay's
instructions, came very quickly to St. Andrew's hall in Broad street,
where five days before, the Legislature of South Carolina, after
adjourning from Columbia, had passed the ordinance of secession.

Two soldiers in the Palmetto uniform were on guard, but they quickly let
him pass when he showed his letters to Senator Yancey. Inside, a young
man, a boy, in fact, not more than a year older than himself, met him.
He was slender, dark and tall, dressed precisely, and his manner had
that easy grace which, as Harry had noticed already, seemed to be the
characteristic of Charleston.

"My name is Arthur St. Clair," he said, "and I'm a sort of improvised
secretary for our leaders who are in council here."

"Mine," said Harry, "is Henry Kenton. I'm a son of Colonel George
Kenton, of Kentucky, late a colonel in the United States Army, and I've
come with important messages from him, Senator Culver and other Southern
leaders in Kentucky."

"Then you will be truly welcome. Wait a moment and I'll see if they are
ready to receive you."

He returned almost instantly, and asked Harry to go in with him.
They entered a large room, with a dais at the center of the far wall,
and a number of heavy gilt chairs covered with velvet ranged on either
side of it. Over the dais hung a large portrait of Queen Victoria as a
girl in her coronation robes. A Scotch society had occupied this room,
but the people of Charleston had always taken part in their festivities.
In those very velvet chairs the chaperons had sat while the dancing had
gone on in the hall. Then the leaders of secession had occupied them,
when they put through their measure, and now they were sitting there
again, deliberating.

A man of middle years and of quick, eager countenance arose when young
St. Clair came in with Harry.

"Mr. Yancey," said St. Clair, "this is Henry Kenton, the son of Colonel
George Kenton, who has come from Kentucky with important letters."

Yancey gave him his hand and a welcome, and Harry looked with intense
interest at the famous Alabama orato