ss through which
ran the hum and murmur of expectancy. Overhead, the sun leaped out and
shone for a while with great brilliancy. "A good omen," many said.
And to Harry it all seemed good, too. The excitement, the enthusiasm
were contagious. If any prophet of evil was present he had nothing to
say.

A jet of smoke standing black against the golden air appeared above a
hill, and then came the rumble of a train. It was that which bore the
President elect, coming fast, and a sudden great shout went up from the
multitude, followed by silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of so
many. Harry's heart leaped again, but his will kept his body immovable.

The rumble became a roar, and the jet of smoke turned to a cloud.
Then the train drew into the station and stopped. The people began a
continuous shout, bands played fiercely, and a tall, thin man of middle
years, dressed in black broadcloth, descended from a coach. All the
soldiers saluted, the bands played more fiercely than ever, and the
shouting of the crowd swelled in volume.

It was the first time that Harry had ever seen Jefferson Davis, and the
face, so unlike that which he expected, impressed him. He saw a cold,
gray, silent man with lips pressed tightly together. He did not behold
here the Southern fire and passion of which he was hearing so much talk,
but rather the reserve and icy resolve of the far North. Harry at first
felt a slight chill, but it soon passed. It was better at such a time
to have a leader of restraint and dignity than the homely joker, Lincoln,
of whom such strange tales came.

Mr. Davis lifted his black hat to the shouting crowd, and bowed again
and again. But he did not smile. His face remained throughout set in
the same stern mold. As the troops closed up, he entered the carriage
waiting for him, and drove slowly toward the heart of the city, the
multitude following and breaking at intervals into shouts and cheers.

The Palmetto Guards marched on the right of the carriage, and Harry
was able to watch the President-elect all the time. The face held his
attention. Its sternness did not relax. It was the face of a man who
had seen the world, and who believed in the rule of strength.

The procession led on to a hotel, a large building with a great portico
in front. Here it stopped, the bands ceased to play, Mr. Davis
descended from the carriage and entered the portico, where a group of
men famous in the South stood, ready