d the people happy and prosperous, as they
were before. And who knows when that will be? For, feeble and broken as
he is, he will never give in to the Union. Of that I'm sure."

"I'm very sorry," said Cavendish softly. One look at Rathbawne had been
enough to show him that the interview for which he had been sent was an
impossibility. One look at Natalie sufficed to banish from his mind
every thought save that of her pitiful pallor and the pathetic quiver of
her lips.

"I had no idea it was as bad as this," he continued. "Can't anything be
done? You are far from being in good shape yourself, Miss Rathbawne."

"Tired and dispirited, that's all," she answered, trying to smile. "And
I fear nothing can be done as long as our fate lies in Governor Abbott's
hands. There's no use in harping on that, though. You know as well as I
what we have to expect from him. Did you see the attack on Mr. Barclay
this morning?"

"An infamous libel!" exclaimed Cavendish hotly.

Miss Rathbawne crumbled the bread between her fingers, and resumed her
feeding of the gold-fish.

"You must know that I am the last person in the world to need that
assurance," she said slowly. "It is only another thread in all the
hideous tissue of injustice and iniquity which has been wrapped about us
like a pall. What a shame, is it not, that such a man as he should be
powerless to do the work I think God intended for him? And what a shame
that Alleghenia, needing his clear head and his strong arm and his
loyal heart as she does in this hour of emergency, should only be
sneering at him as a coward and a cad!"

"I cannot believe," answered Cavendish, "that the venom of the 'Record'
is to be taken as the sentiment of the state. There must be many--there
must be a majority of Alleghenians who know, as we know, that no better
man breathes than John Barclay."

"Thank you," said the girl.

In the open spaces of water between the lily-pads the fat indolent
gold-fish mouthed at the crumbs, stirring the silence with little
sucking sounds, and sending tiny ripples widening on all sides. One
alone, dingy yellow in color, moped apart from his fellows, and took no
interest in the banquet.

"That one's a cynic," said Miss Rathbawne presently. "My subtlest
cajoleries never win him from that attitude of sneering contempt. The
others get all the tid-bits, and he doesn't seem to care. He isn't even
ornamental--he's in a class by himself. I call him Diogenes, and I'm
thin