ack darkness, and to-night he had need of both
knowledge and instinct. There was a shadowed moon, flurries of rain, and
a wind moaning through the pine woods. From far away, like the swell of
the sea on the rocks, came the low mutter of the guns. Scarcely ever did
it cease, and its note rose above the wailing of the wind like a kind of
solemn chorus that got upon Prescott's nerves.

"Is it a funeral song?" he asked.

On he went and the way opened before him in the darkness; no Northern
horsemen crossed his path; the cry of "Halt!" never came. It seemed to
Prescott that fate was making his way easy. For what purpose? He did not
like it. He wished to be interrupted--to feel that he must struggle to
achieve his journey. This, too, got upon his nerves. He grew lonely and
afraid--not afraid of physical danger, but of the omens and presages
that the night seemed to bear. He wondered again about the message that
he bore. Why had not General Lee given some hint of its contents? Then
he blamed himself for questioning.

He rode slowly and thus many hours passed. Mile after mile fell behind
him and the night went with them. The sun sprang up, the golden day
enfolded the earth, and at last from the top of a hill he saw afar the
spires of Richmond. It was a city that he loved--his home, the scene of
the greatest events in his life, including his manhood's love; and as he
looked down upon it now his eyes grew misty. What would be its fate?

He rode on, giving the countersign as he passed the defenses. With the
pure day, the omens and presages of the night seemed to have passed.
Richmond breathed a Sabbath calm; the Northern armies might have been a
thousand miles away for all the sign it gave. There was no fear, no
apprehension on the faces he saw. Richmond still had absolute faith in
Lee; whatever his lack of resources, he would meet the need.

From lofty church spires bells began to ring. The air was pervaded with
a holy calm, and Prescott, with the same feeling upon him, rode on. He
longed to turn aside to see his mother and to call at the Grayson
cottage, but "as soon as possible," the General had said, and he must
deliver his message. He knocked at the door of the White House of the
Confederacy. "Gone to church," the servant said when he asked for Mr.
Davis.

Prescott took his way to Doctor Hoge's church, well knowing where the
President of the Confederacy habitually sat, and stiff with his night's
riding, walked and led h