rrangements he should be at the
head-quarters of the commander-in-chief,--to be made a drummer-boy of,
as he said before, or serve wherever there should be room for him.

He stood there so bright, so ready, eager, daring, was capable of so
much! What had _she_ done to usurp the functions of conscience, and
assume the voice of duty? She had done what she could not revoke, and
yet could not contemplate without a sort of terror,--as if to atone, to
make amends for disloyalty, which, coming even as from herself, a crime
in which she had chief concernment, was not to be atoned for by
repentance merely, nor by any sacrifices less than the costliest. She
had sought her husband's peer,--deemed that she had found
him,--therefore would despatch him to the battle-field, by valor to meet
the valiant. But now the light by which she had hurried forward to that
deed was gone, and she stood as a prophetess may, who, deserted of the
divinity, doubts the testimony of her hour of exaltation.

While they talked,--both apparently standing at an elevation of serene
courage above the level of even warring men and heroic women, but one
causing such misgiving in her heart as to fix her in that mood, and
forbid an extrication,--Fate led a lady down the street, who, passing by
the church and seeing the door ajar, went in. She should find in the
choir some written music, used in yesterday's services, which she had
forgotten to bring away. Out of the pure, bright sunshine she stepped
into the dark, cold shadows, and had come to the choir before she heard
the voices speaking there. Shrined saints that hold your throne-like
niches in the old stone walls! gilded cherubim that hover round the
organ's burnished pipes! what sight do you look down upon? She walked up
quietly,--it was her way, a noiseless, gliding way,--there stood the
organist and Adam von Gelhorn! As if hell had made a revelation, she
stood looking at those two. And both saw her, and neither of the three
uttered one word, or essayed a motion, till she, quietly, it seemed,
though it was with utmost violence, turned to go again.

Then--soft the voice sounded, but to her who spoke there was thunder in
it--the organist called after her, "Sybella!"

She, however, did not turn to answer, neither did she falter in going.
Departure was the one thing of which she was capable,--and what could
have hindered her going? What checks Vesuvius, when the flood says, "Lo,
I come!"? Or shall the little