ing and care nothing about the
Constitution of our fathers. They know nothing and care nothing for the
principles on which the Federal Union was founded. They came from
empires. They think as their fathers thought in Europe. And they are
driving the sons of the old Revolution in the North into the acceptance
of the ideas of centralized power. If this tendency continues the
President of the United States will become the most autocratic ruler of
the world. The South stands for the sovereignty of the States as the
only bulwark against the growth of this irresponsible centralized
despotism. The Democratic party of the North, thank God, yet stands with
us on that issue. Our only possible hope of success in case of war lies
in this fact--"

Socola suddenly started.

"Quite so--I see--The North may be divided, the South will be a unit."

"Exactly; they'll fight as one man if they must."

The longer Socola talked with this pale, earnest, self-poised man, the
deeper grew the conviction of his utter sincerity, his singleness of
purpose, his pure and lofty patriotism. His conception of the man and
his aims had completely changed and with this change of estimate came
the deeper conviction of the vastness of the tragedy toward which the
Nation was being hurled by some hidden, resistless power. He had come
into the South with a sense of moral superiority and the consciousness
not only of the righteousness of his cause but the certainty that God
would swiftly confound the enemies of the Union. He had waked with a
shock to the certainty that they were entering the arena of the
mightiest conflict of the century.

He girded his soul anew for the role he had chosen to play. The
character of this Southern leader held for him an endless fascination.
It was part of his mission to study him and he lost no opportunity. The
greatest surprise he received during his stay was the day of the
election of President at Montgomery. He had expected to be present at
this meeting of the Southern Convention but, hearing that it would be
held behind closed doors, had decided on his visit to Briarfield.

A messenger dashed up to the gate, sprang from his horse, hurried into
the garden, thrust a telegram into the Senator's hand.

He opened it without haste, and read it slowly. His face went white and
he crushed the piece of paper with a sudden gesture of despair. For a
moment he forgot his guest, his head was raised as if in prayer and from
the depths