Ann."

"What must be rather awkward?"

Did he really mean to discuss, to criticize her relations to James
Penhallow? The darkness was for a time the grateful screen.

Grey, a courteous man, felt the reproof in her question, and replied, "I
beg pardon, my dear Ann, I have heard of the captain's unfortunate change
of opinion. I shall hope, however, to be able to convince him that to
elect Fremont will be to break up the Union. I think I could put it so
clearly that--"

Ann laughed low laughter as vastly amused she laid a hand on her cousin's
arm. "You don't know James Penhallow. He has been from his youth a
Democrat. There never was any question about how he would vote. But now,
since 1850--" and she paused, "in fact, I do not care to discuss with you
what I will not with James." Her great love, her birth, training,
education and respect for the character of her husband, made this
discussion hateful. Her eyes filled, and, much troubled, she was glad of
the mask of night.

"But answer me one question, Ann. Why did he change?"

"He was becoming dissatisfied and losing faith in his own party, but it
was at last my own dear South and its friends at the North who drove him
out." Again she paused.

"What do you mean, Ann?" asked Grey, still persistent.

"It began long ago, George. He said to me one day, 'That fool Fillmore
has signed the Fugitive-Slave Act; it is hardly possible to obey it.'
Then I said, 'Would you not, James?' I can never forget it. He said,
'Yes, I obey the law, Ann, but this should be labelled 'an act to
exasperate the North.' I am done with the Democrat and all his ways. Obey
the law! Yes, I was a soldier.' Then he said, 'Ann, we must never talk
politics again.' We never do."

"And yet, Ann," said Grey, "that act was needed."

"Perhaps," she returned, and then followed a long silence, as with
thought of James Penhallow she sat smiling in the darkness and watched
the rare wandering lanterns of the belated fireflies.

The man at her side was troubled into unnatural silence. He had hoped to
find an ally in his cousin's husband, and now what should he do? He had
concluded that as an honest man he had done his duty when he had written
to Woodburn; but now as a man of honour what should he say to James
Penhallow? To conceal from his host what he had done was the obvious
business-like course. This troubled a man who was usually able to see his
way straight on all matters of social conduct and was sen