ed by chairs. Several men occupied these, interested in a
conversation, somewhat subdued in its tone and manner. The chairs,
settees, and benches throughout the rest of the room, were being filled
by the so-called volunteers, who entered and took their places with an
air of wonder and indecision. Already two-thirds of the seats were
taken, and every face turned and re-turned to the door at every
footfall.

The small door to the side was, of course, barred; but, in response to
the slightest knock, it was opened by an attendant, assigned for that
purpose. Names were asked and the cards of admission were collected with
a certain formality before the aspirant gained admittance. There was no
introduction, no hurry, no excitement.

"What's your name?" the man at the door was heard to say to one who
already had tapped for admittance.

"Cadwalader," was the reply. "James Cadwalader."

"Got your card?"

There was no response, only the production of a small white card.

A strong, athletic individual, clad in a checked shirt and a red flannel
jacket, a leathern apron, and a pair of yellow buckskin breeches,
entered and stood for a moment looking about the hall. His eyes fell
upon the group gathered around the table at the forward end of the room.
Two of them he recognized, Colonel Clifton and John Anderson, the latter
with his back to the audience. There were many familiar faces in the
chairs throughout the room, some of whom had expected him, and
accordingly gave him a slight recognition. Slowly, and in a manifestly
indifferent manner, he made his way to the front of the chairs where he
seated himself, and listened sharply to the little group conversing upon
the platform until he had satisfied himself that there was nothing of
importance under discussion.

The room was filling rapidly. It was one of those mixed assemblies
wherein one could discern many states of mind written upon the faces of
those present. Some wore the appearance of contentment and composure;
some laughed and talked in a purely disinterested and indifferent
manner; others looked the picture of unrest and dissatisfaction, and
wore a scowl of disappointment and defeat. These latter Stephen
recognized at once and hurriedly made an estimate of their number.
Together with the neutral representation he seemed satisfied with the
majority.

The most remarkable feature of all was the silence. Not a voice was
raised above a whisper. The man at the door at the s