e's hope. There's something fine in you, and you'll find
yourself in the world when you ride forth to play your part. And I'll
follow you with tender pride."

"But not with love," he sighed.

"Maybe--who knows?" she smiled.

"Is that all the hope you can give me?"

"Isn't it enough?"

He gazed into her serious eyes a moment and laughed with boyish
enthusiasm.

"Yes, it is, Miss Mary! You're glorious. You're wonderful. You make me
ashamed of my foolishness. You inspire me to do things. And I'm going to
do them for your sake."

"For your own sake, because God has put the spark in your soul. Your
declaration of love has made me very happy. We're too young yet to take
it seriously. We must both live our life in its morning before we settle
down to the final things. They'll come too soon."

"I'm going to love you always, Miss Mary," he protested.

"I want you to. But you'll probably marry another girl."

"Never!"

"And I know you'll be her loyal knight, her devoted slave. It's a way
our Southern boys have. And it's beautiful."

Stuart studied the finely chiseled face with a new reverence.

"Miss Mary, you've let me down so gently. I don't feel hurt at all."

A sweet silence fell between them. A breeze blew the ringlets of the
girl's hair across the pink of her cheek. A breeze from the garden laden
with the mingled perfume of roses. A flock of wild ducks swung across
the lawn high in the clear sky and dipped toward the river. Across the
fields came a song of slaves at work in the cornfield, harvesting the
first crop of peas planted between the rows.

Stuart caught her hand, pressed it tenderly and kissed it.

"You're an angel, Miss Mary. And I'm going to worship you, if you won't
let me love you."

The girl returned his earnest look with a smile and slowly answered:

"All right, Beauty Stuart, we'll see--"

CHAPTER IV

The dinner at night was informal. Colonel Lee had invited three personal
friends from Washington. He hoped in the touch of the minds of these
leaders to find some relief from the uneasiness with which the reading
of Mrs. Stowe's book had shadowed his imagination.

The man about whom he was curious was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois,
the most brilliant figure in the Senate. In the best sense he
represented the national ideal. A Northern man, he had always viewed the
opinions and principles of the South with broad sympathy.

The new Senator from Georgia, on the other hand, had ma