ull
heavy rattle of its wheels over the cobblestones, and the crack of the
driver's whip echoing and reechoing through the house. Behind it came
the steady tramp, tramp, of a regiment of infantry, the loud call of
their volunteer officers ringing sharply their orders at the turn of the
street. Far off on the Capitol Hill he heard the sharp note of a bugle
and the rattle of horses' hoofs. Every hour the raw troops were pouring
into the city from the North, the East and the West.

He wondered with a strange catch in his throat what difference this was
going to make between him and the girl he loved. There was no longer any
question about the love. He marvelled that he had been too stupid to
realize it and speak before this shadow had fallen between them. She
knew that his sympathies were with the South and he knew with equal
certainty she had never believed that he would fight to destroy the
Union when the test should come. He dreaded the shock when he must tell
her.

His heart grew sick with fear. What chance had he with everything
against him--her old, fanatical father who loved her with the tender
devotion of his strong manhood--her own blind admiration for the new
President, whose coming had brought war--and worst of all he must go and
leave John by her side! His brother had given no hint of his real
feelings, but his deeds had been more eloquent than words. He had seen
Betty every week since the day they had met--sometimes twice. This he
knew. There may have been times he didn't know.

All the more reason why he must put the thing to the test. Besides he
_must_ speak. His hour had struck. His country was calling, and he must
go--to meet Death or Glory. The woman he loved must know.

He heard the soft rustle of her dress on the stairs and sprang to his
feet. She paused in the doorway a vision of ravishing beauty in full
evening dress, her bare arms and exquisite neck and throat gleaming in
the shadows.

She smiled graciously, her brown eyes sparkling with the conscious power
which youth and beauty can never conceal.

She held out her soft warm hand and his trembling cold fingers grasped
it.

"I'm sorry to have kept you, Ned," she began softly, "but I was dressing
for the reception at the White House. I promised Mrs. Lincoln to help
her."

"I didn't mind the wait, Miss Betty," he answered soberly. "Come into
the garden--I can talk better there among your flowers--I never mind
waiting for you."

"Why?"

"