d told me
that she had seen my father's spirit, felt him bend over her and touch
her lips. He had died at exactly that moment."

"Wonderful, isn't it," Jennie murmured softly, "the vision of love!"

She was dreaming of the moments of her distress in the sacking of her
home when the vision of this man's smiling face had suddenly set her to
laughing.

"Yes," Socola answered. "I asked you about your older brother because I
don't like the idea of you poisoning your beautiful young life with
hatred. Such thoughts kill--they can't bring health and strength, Miss
Jennie."

"Of course," the girl responded tenderly, "you can see things more
calmly. You can't understand how deep the knife has entered our hearts
in the South."

"That's just what I do understand. It's that against which I'm warning
you. This war can't last always you know. There must be a
readjustment--"

"Between the North and South?"

"Of course--"

"Never!"

With sudden emotion she leaped to her feet her little fists clinched.
She stood trembling in silence for a moment and her face paled.

"No, Signor," she went on in cold tones. "There can be no readjustment
of this war. It's to the death now. I confess myself a rebel body and
soul--_Confess_? I glory in it! I'm proud of being one. I thought my
father extravagant at first. Ben Butler has changed my views. The South
can't look back now. It's forward--forward--always forward to death--or
independence!"

She paused overcome with emotion.

"Yes," she went on in quick tones, "I thank God we're two different
tribes! I'm proud of the South and her old-fashioned, out-of-date
chivalry. The South respects and honors women. God never made the
Southern white man who could issue Butler's orders in New Orleans or
insult the heart-broken women who are forced to enter his office with
the vile motto he has placed over his desk--"

Socola lifted his hand in gentle smiling protest.

"But you must remember, Miss Jennie, that General Butler is a peculiar
individual. He probably does not represent the best that's in New
England--"

"God knows I hope not for their sakes," was the answer. "I only wish I
could fight in the ranks with our boys. If I can't fight at least I'm
going to help our men in other ways. I'll work with my hands as a slave.
I'll sew and knit and nurse. I'll breathe my soul into the souls of our
men. I sing Dixie when I rise in the morning. I hum it all day. I sing
it with my last thoughts as