e, too, breathed threats of vengeance.

The edict went forth for the arrest of General Lee.

Would Grant, the Commanding General of the Army, dare protest? There were
those who said that if Lee were arrested and Grant's plighted word at
Appomattox smirched, the silent soldier would not only protest, but draw
his sword, if need be, to defend his honour and the honour of the Nation.
Yet--would he dare? It remained to be seen.

The jails were now packed with Southern men, taken unarmed from their
homes. The old Capitol Prison was full, and every cell of every grated
building in the city, and they were filling the rooms of the Capitol
itself.

Margaret, hurrying from the market in the early morning with her flowers,
was startled to find her mother bowed in anguish over a paragraph in the
morning paper.

She rose and handed it to the daughter, who read:

"Dr. Richard Cameron, of South Carolina, arrived in Washington and was
placed in jail last night, charged with complicity in the murder of
President Lincoln. It was discovered that Jeff Davis spent the night
at his home in Piedmont, under the pretence of needing medical
attention. Beyond all doubt, Booth, the assassin, merely acted under
orders from the Arch Traitor. May the gallows have a rich and early
harvest!"

Margaret tremblingly wound her arms around her mother's neck. No words
broke the pitiful silence--only blinding tears and broken sobs.

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Book II--The Revolution

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST LADY OF THE LAND

The little house on the Capitol hill now became the centre of fevered
activity. This house, selected by its grim master to become the executive
mansion of the Nation, was perhaps the most modest structure ever chosen
for such high uses.

It stood, a small, two-story brick building, in an unpretentious street.
Seven windows opened on the front with black solid-panelled shutters. The
front parlour was scantily furnished. A huge mirror covered one wall, and
on the other hung a life-size oil portrait of Stoneman, and between the
windows were a portrait of Washington Irving and a picture of a nun. Among
his many charities he had always given liberally to an orphanage conducted
by a Roman Catholic sisterhood.

The back parlour, whose single window looked out on a small garden, he had
fitted up as a library, with leather-upholstered furniture, a large desk
and t