nts, deserted tents of a vanished army, russet
and empty wigwams drawn against a deep blue sky. Now and then, in the
darker woods, there was a scurry of partridges, the red gleam of a fox,
or a vision of antlers, and once a wild turkey, bronze and stately,
crossed the road before the chaise. When they passed a smithy or a mill,
the clink of iron, the rush of water, came to them faintly in the smoky
air. That night they slept at the house of a wealthy planter and good
Republican, where, after supper, all sat around a great fire, the
children on footstools between the elders, and stories were told of
hunting, of Indian warfare, and of Tarleton's raid. At ten they made a
hall and danced for an hour to a negro's fiddling, then a bowl of punch
was brought and the bedroom candles lighted.

In the morning Rand and Jacqueline went on towards Richmond, and at
sunset they found themselves before a country tavern, not over clean or
comfortable, but famous for good company. The centre of a large
neighbourhood, it had been that day the scene of some Republican
anniversary, and a number of gentlemen, sober and otherwise, had
remained for supper and a ride home through the frosty moonlight. Among
them were several lawyers of note, and a writer and thinker whose
opinion Rand valued. Besides all these there were at the inn a group of
small farmers, a party of boatmen from the James, the local schoolmaster
and the parson, a Scotch merchant or two, and the usual idle that a
tavern draws. All were Republicans, and all knew their party's men. Rand
descended from the chaise amidst a buzz of recognition, and after supper
came a demand that he should speak from the tavern porch to an
increasing crowd. He did not refuse. To his iron frame the fatigue of
the day was as naught, and there were men in the throng whom he was
willing to move. It came to him suddenly, also, that Jacqueline had
never heard him speak. Well, he would speak to her to-night.

His was an universal mind. On occasion he could stoop to praise one
party and vituperate another, but that was his tongue serving his
worldly interest. The man himself dealt with humanity, wherever found
and in whatever time, however differentiated, however allied, with its
ancestry of the brute and its destiny of the spirit; with the root of
the tree and the far-off flower and every intermediate development of
stem and leaf; with the soil that sustained the marvellous growth, and
with the unknown Ga