ed cautiously down the staircase. A lack of
confidence in his own domestics had invaded him for the first time. The
lights were out. He silently opened the door and was in the street.

He walked hastily a few squares to a livery stable whose proprietor he
knew. His first inquiry was for one "Redskin," a particular horse; the
second for its proprietor. Happily both were in. The proprietor asked no
question of a customer of Clarence's condition. The horse, half Spanish,
powerful and irascible, was quickly saddled. As Clarence mounted, the
man in an impulse of sociability said,--

"Saw you at the theatre to-night, sir."

"Ah," returned Clarence, quietly gathering up the reins.

"Rather a smart trick of that woman with the flag," he went on
tentatively. Then, with a possible doubt of his customer's politics, he
added with a forced smile, "I reckon it's all party fuss, though; there
ain't any real danger."

But fast as Clarence might ride the words lingered in his ears. He saw
through the man's hesitation; he, too, had probably heard that Clarence
Brant weakly sympathized with his wife's sentiments, and dared not speak
fully. And he understood the cowardly suggestion that there was "no real
danger." It had been Clarence's one fallacy. He had believed the public
excitement was only a temporary outbreak of partisan feeling, soon to
subside. Even now he was conscious that he was less doubtful of the
integrity of the Union than of his own household. It was not the
devotion of the patriot, but the indignation of an outraged husband,
that was spurring him on.

He knew that if he reached Woodville by five o'clock he could get
ferried across the bay at the Embarcadero, and catch the down coach to
Fair Plains, whence he could ride to the Rancho. As the coach did not
connect directly with San Francisco, the chance of his surprising them
was greater. Once clear of the city outskirts, he bullied Redskin into
irascible speed, and plunged into the rainy darkness of the highroad.
The way was familiar. For a while he was content to feel the buffeting,
caused by his rapid pace, of wind and rain against his depressed head
and shoulders in a sheer brutal sense of opposition and power, or to
relieve his pent-up excitement by dashing through overflowed gullies in
the road or across the quaggy, sodden edges of meadowland, until he had
controlled Redskin's rebellious extravagance into a long steady stride.
Then he raised his head and straigh