almost resistless impulse of the moment to slip his arm around her and
assure her of safety. If he had only dared!

Elsie begged Mrs. Cameron and Margaret to go home with her until the city
was quiet.

"No," said the mother. "I am not afraid. Death has no terrors for me any
longer. We will not leave Ben a moment now, day or night. My soul is sick
with dread for what this awful tragedy will mean for the South! I can't
think of my own safety. Can any one undo this pardon now?" she asked
anxiously.

"I am sure they cannot. The name on that paper should be mightier dead
than living."

"Ah, but will it be? Do you know Mr. Johnson? Can he control Stanton? He
seemed to be more powerful than the President himself. What will that man
do now with those who fall into his hands."

"He can do nothing with your son, rest assured."

"I wish I knew it," said the mother wistfully.

* * * * *

A few moments after the President died on Saturday morning, the rain began
to pour in torrents. The flags that flew from a thousand gilt-tipped peaks
in celebration of victory drooped to half-mast and hung weeping around
their staffs. The litter of burnt fireworks, limp and crumbling, strewed
the streets, and the tri-coloured lanterns and balloons, hanging
pathetically from their wires, began to fall to pieces.

Never in all the history of man had such a conjunction of events befallen
a nation. From the heights of heaven's rejoicing to be suddenly hurled to
the depths of hell in piteous helpless grief! Noon to midnight without a
moment between. A pall of voiceless horror spread its shadows over the
land. Nothing short of an earthquake or the sound of the archangel's
trumpet could have produced the sense of helpless consternation, the black
and speechless despair. The people read their papers in tears. The morning
meal was untouched. By no other single feat could death have carried such
peculiar horror to every home. Around this giant figure the heartstrings
of the people had been unconsciously knit. Even his political enemies had
come to love him.

Above all, in just this moment he was the incarnation of the Triumphant
Union on the altar of whose life every house had laid the offering of its
first-born. The tragedy was stupefying--it was unthinkable--it was the
mockery of Fate!

Men walked the streets of the cities, dazed with the sense of blind grief.
Every note of music and rejoicing beca