other officers, and
I am glad to say that what is true of me is true also of them."

"But your President, Mr. Lincoln, I am told is a cruel monster, intent
upon the destruction of the South."

"You are sadly misinformed, Mrs. Ruthven. There never beat a warmer,
kinder heart than that of Abraham Lincoln, I know, for I have seen him
and spoken with him, and I know that no one sorrows more over the
stricken homes and bloodshed of this unhappy strife. He is misjudged
now, but posterity will do him justice."

"I cannot believe it. If he deplores the evils of war, why does he not
end it at once, and order his hordes of Yankee invaders to throw down
their arms?"

"Because the life of the nation is at stake. I do not wish to speak
severely of your leaders. They are actuated by a mistaken sense of
right. Amid the clash of arms, Reason is silent. We are fighting, not
against the South, but for its best good."

"You plead well, Colonel Stanton, but I am not convinced," answered the
lady of the house.

At that moment Jack came up again, bringing Marion.

"Marion!" cried Harry Powell, and ran up to her.

"Harry!" she returned, and put out her hand to him.

"Will you shake hands with a Yankee?" he asked. "Jack was rather
backward about doing it."

"I am always ready to shake hands with my cousin," she returned, and
blushed.

Colonel Stanton was then introduced, and a minute later Harry Powell
asked about St. John Ruthven.

"Is he in the ranks, aunt?" he questioned.

"He is not," answered Mrs. Ruthven, and drew down her mouth.

"He cannot leave his mother," put in Marion contemptuously.

"Evidently you think he ought to go?"

"He is a strong, able-bodied man. I would go, were I in his place."

"So would I," put in Jack.

"Then he isn't very patriotic."

"Oh, yes he is--in words," returned Marion. "But in deeds----" She
shrugged her pretty shoulders, and that meant a good deal.

Colonel Stanton and Mrs. Ruthven entered the house, followed by Jack,
and presently Marion and the young surgeon found themselves alone in the
garden.

CHAPTER XVII.

A SCENE IN THE SUMMERHOUSE.

In years gone by Marion and Harry Powell, as little girl and boy, had
thought a good deal of each other.

Now, as the pair faced once more, much of the old feelings came back,
and pretty Marion found herself blushing deeply, she could not tell
exactly why.

She despised Harry's uniform, yet she felt that he looked remarkably
h