y the whole thing be over before your campaign
is begun. I should like to see a war, and be in one--but not a war
like this, that makes enemies of you and me. Good-bye, Phil--and come
back safe and sound."

'Twas Margaret's time now, for Ned was not present. There was a pause,
as Phil turned questioningly--nay wistfully--toward her. She met his
look calmly. Old Noah and some of the negroes, who had pressed forward
to see Phil's departure from the house, were waiting for her to speak,
that they might afterward call out their Godspeed.

"Good-bye!" she said, at last, holding out her hand indifferently.

He took the hand, bent over it, pressed it with his lips. Then he
looked at her again. I think she must have shown just the slightest
yielding, given just the least permission, in her eyes; for he went
nearer, and putting his arm around her, gently drew her close to him,
and looked down at her. Suddenly she turned her face up, and pursed
her lips. With a look of gladness, he passionately kissed her.

"God bless you, my dear wife," he whispered; and then, as if by
expecting more he might court a disappointment to mar the memory of
that leave-taking, he released her, and said to us all: "Take care of
her, I pray!" whereupon, abruptly turning, he hastened out of the open
door, waving back his hat in response to our chorus of good-byes, and
the loud "Go' bless you, Massa Philip!" of the negroes.

We followed quickly to the porch, to look after him. But he strode off
so fast that Cornelius had to run to keep up with him. He did not once
look back, even when he passed out of sight at the street corner. I
believe he divined that his wife would not be among those looking
after, and that he wished not to interpose any other last impression
of his dear home than that of her kiss.

When we came back into the hall, she had flown. Later, as my mother
and I went through the garden homeward, passing beneath Margaret's
open windows, we heard her weeping--not violently, but steadily,
monotonously, as if she had a long season of the past to regret, a
long portion of the future to sorrow for. And here let me say that I
think Margaret, from first to last, loved Philip with more tenderness
than she was capable of bestowing upon any one else; with an affection
so deep that sometimes it might be obscured by counter feelings
playing over the surface of her heart, so deep that often she might
not be conscious of its presence, but so deep tha