the boxwood
hedges told the story of wealth and culture and high social position.

"I wish to introduce you to one of the most charming ladies of
Richmond," the stranger said in quick, business-like tones, opening the
gate as if he were used to the feel of the latch.

"Certainly," was the short reply.

In answer to the rap of the old-fashioned brass knocker, a quaint little
woman of forty opened the door and showed them into the parlor.

The blinds were closed, and the room lighted by a single small kerosene
lamp.

With quick precision the stranger presented his companion.

"Miss Van Lew, permit me to introduce to you Signor Henrico Socola of
the Sardinian Ministry. He is the duly accredited but unofficial agent
of his Majesty, Victor Emmanuel, and is cultivating friendly relations
with the new Government of the South."

Miss Van Low extended her hand and took the outstretched one with a
warmth that surprised her visitor beyond measure.

"I recognized him at once," she said with emotion.

"Recognized me?"

"Your dear mother, sir, was my schoolmate in Philadelphia. I loved her.
How alike you are!"

"Then we shall be friends--"

"We shall be more than friends--we shall be comrades--"

She paused and turned to the stranger:

"You can leave us now."

With a bow the man turned and left the room.

Socola studied the little woman who had deliberately chosen to lay her
life, her fortune and her home on the altar of her Country. He saw with
a glance at her delicate but commanding figure the brilliant,
accomplished, resolute woman of personality and charm.

She took the young man's hand again in hers and led him to a high-backed
mahogany settee. She stroked the hands with her thin, cold fingers.

"How perfect the image of your mother! I would have known you anywhere.
_You_ must know and trust me. I was sent North to school. I came back to
Virginia a more determined Abolitionist than ever. Our people have
always hated Slavery. I made good my faith by freeing mine. We're not
so well-to-do now, my mother and I."

She paused and looked wistfully about the stately room.

"This house could tell the story of gay and beautiful scenes--of
balls--receptions and garden parties in bowers of roses--of coaches
drawn by six snow-white horses standing at our door for the start to the
White Sulphur Springs--"

She stopped suddenly, mastered her emotions and went on dreamily:

"Of great men and distinguished families ou