"He has grown to be an old man," his neighbours said pityingly; and it is true that the weight of his years had fallen upon him in a night--as if he had gone to bed in a hale old age, with the sap of youth in his veins, to awaken with bleared eyes and a trembling hand. Since the day of his wife's return from the tavern, when he had peered from his hiding-place in his library window, he had not mentioned his grandson by name; and yet the thought of him seemed forever lying beneath his captious exclamations. He p.r.i.c.ked nervously at the subject, made roundabout allusions to the base ingrat.i.tude from which he suffered; and the desertion of Big Abel had d.a.m.ned for him the whole faithful race from which the offender sprang.

"They are all alike," he sweepingly declared. "There is not a trustworthy one among them. They'll eat my bread and steal my chickens, and then run off with the first scapegrace that gives them a chance."

"I think Big Abel did just right," said Betty, fearlessly.

The old gentleman squared himself to fix her with his weak red eyes.

"Oh, you're just the same," he returned pettishly, "just the same."

"But I don't steal your chickens, sir," protested the girl, laughing.

The Major grunted and looked down at her in angry silence; then his face relaxed and a frosty smile played about his lips.

"You are young, my child," he replied, in a kind of austere sadness, "and youth is always an enemy to the old--to the old," he repeated quietly, and looked at his wrinkled hand.

But in the excitement of the next autumn, he showed for a time a revival of his flagging spirit. When the elections came he followed them with an absorption that had in it all the violence of a mental malady. The four possible Presidents that stood before the people were drawn for him in bold lines of black and white--the outward and visible distinction between, on the one side, the three "adventurers" whom he heartily opposed, and, on the other, the "Kentucky gentleman," for whom he as heartily voted. There was no wavering in his convictions--no uncertainty; he was troubled by no delicate shades of indecision. What he believed, and that alone, was G.o.d-given right; what he did not believe, with all things pertaining to it, was equally G.o.d-forsaken error.

Toward the Governor, when the people's choice was known, he displayed a resentment that was almost touching in its simplicity.

"There's a man who would tear the last rag of honour from the Old Dominion," he remarked, in speaking of his absent neighbour.

"Ah, Major," sighed the rector, for it was upon one of his weekly visits, "what course would you have us gird our loins to pursue?"

"Course?" promptly retorted the Major. "Why, the course of courage, sir."

The rector shook his great head. "My dear friend, I fear you recognize the virtue only when she carries the battle-axe," he observed.

For a moment the Major glared at him; then, restrained by his inherited reverence for the pulpit, he yielded the point with the soothing acknowledgment that he was always "willing to make due allowance for ministers of the gospel."

"My dear sir," gasped Mr. Blake, as his jaw dropped. His face showed plainly that so professional an allowance was exactly what he did not take to be his due; but he let sleeping dangers lie, and it was not until a fortnight later, when he rode out with a copy of the _Charleston Mercury_ and the news of the secession of South Carolina, that he found the daring to begin a direct approach.

It was a cold, bright evening in December, and the Major unfolded the paper and read it by the firelight, which glimmered redly on the frosted window panes. When he had finished, he looked over the fluttering sheet into the pale face of the rector, and waited breathlessly for the first decisive words.

"May she depart in peace," said the minister, in a low voice.

The old gentleman drew a long breath, and, in the cheerful glow, the other, looking at him, saw his weak red eyes fill with tears. Then he took out his handkerchief, shook it from its folds, and loudly blew his nose.

"It was the Union our fathers made, Mr. Blake," he said.

"And the Union you fought for, Major," returned the rector.

"In two wars, sir," he glanced down at his arm as if he half expected to see a wound, "and I shall never fight for another," he added with a sigh.

"My fighting days are over."

They were both silent, and the logs merrily crackled on the great bra.s.s andirons, while the flames went singing up the chimney. A gla.s.s of Burgundy was at the rector's hand, and he lifted it from the silver tray and sipped it as he waited. At last the old man spoke, bending forward from his station upon the hearth-rug.

"You haven't seen Peyton Ambler, I reckon?"

"I pa.s.sed him coming out of town and he was trembling like a leaf," replied the rector. "He looks badly, by the way. I must remember to tell the doctor he needs building up."

"He didn't speak about this, eh?"

"About South Carolina? Oh, yes, he spoke, sir. It happened that Jack Powell came up with him when I did--the boy was cheering with all his might, and I heard him ask the Governor if he questioned the right of the state to secede?"

"And Peyton said, sir?" The Major leaned eagerly toward him.

"He said," pursued the rector, laughing softly. "'G.o.d forbid, my boy, that I should question the right of any man or any country to pursue folly.'"

"Folly!" cried the Major, sharply, firing at the first sign of opposition.

"It was a brave deed, sir, a brave deed--and I--yes, I envy the honour for Virginia. And as for Peyton Ambler, it is my belief that it is he who has sapped the courage of the state. Why, my honest opinion is that there are not fifty men in Virginia with the spirit to secede--and they are women."

The rector laughed and tapped his wine-gla.s.s.

"You mustn't let that reach Mrs. Lightfoot's ears, Major," he cautioned, "for I happen to know that she prides herself upon being what the papers call a 'skulker.'" He stopped and rose heavily to his feet, for, at this point, the door was opened by Cupid and the old lady rustled stiffly into the room.

"I came down to tell you, Mr. Lightfoot, that you really must not allow yourself to become excited," she explained, when the rector had comfortably settled her upon the hearth-rug.

"Pish! tush! my dear, there's not a cooler man in Virginia," replied the Major, frowning; but for the rest of the evening he brooded in troubled silence in his easy chair.

In February, a week after a convention of the people was called at Richmond, the old gentleman surrendered to a sharp siege of the gout, and through the long winter days he sat, red and querulous, before the library fire, with his bandaged foot upon the ottoman that wore Aunt Emmeline's wedding dress. From Leicesterburg a stanch Union man had gone to the convention; and the Major still resented the selection of his neighbours as bitterly as if it were an affront to aspirations of his own.

"d.i.c.k Powell! Pooh! he's another Peyton Ambler," he remarked testily, "and on my word there're too many of his kind--too many of his kind. What we lack, sir, is men of spirit."

When his friends came now he shot his angry questions, like bullets, from the fireside. "Haven't they done anything yet, eh? How much longer do you reckon that roomful of old women will gabble in Richmond? Why, we might as well put a flock of sheep to decide upon a measure!"

But the "roomful of old women" would not be hurried, and the Major grew almost hoa.r.s.e with scolding. For more than two months, while North and South barked at each other across her borders, Virginia patiently and fruitlessly worked for peace; and for more than two months the Major writhed a prisoner upon the hearth.

With the coming of the spring his health mended, and on an April morning, when Betty and the Governor drove over for a quiet chat, they found him limping painfully up and down the drive with the help of a great gold-k.n.o.bbed walking-stick.

He greeted them cordially, and limped after them into the library where Mrs. Lightfoot sat knitting. While he slowly settled his foot, in its loose "carpet" slipper, upon the ottoman, he began a rambling story of the War of 1812, recalling with relish a time when rations grew scant in camp, and "Will Bolling and myself set out to scour the country." His thoughts had made a quick spring backward, and in the midst of events that fired the Governor's blood, he could still fondly dwell upon the battles of his youth.

The younger man, facing him upon the hearth, listened with his patient courtesy, and put in a sympathetic word at intervals. No personal anxiety could cloud his comely face, nor any grievance of his own sharpen the edge of his peculiar suavity. It was only when he rose to go that he voiced, for a single instant, his recognition of the general danger, and replied to the Major's inquiry about his health with the remark, "Ah, grave times make grave faces, sir."

Then he bowed over Mrs. Lightfoot's hand, and with his arm about Betty went out to the carriage.

"The Major's an old man, daughter," he observed, as they rolled rapidly back to Uplands.

"You mean he has broken--" said Betty, and stopped short.

"Since Dan went away." As the Governor completed her sentence, he turned and looked thoughtfully into her face. "It's hard to judge the young, my dear, but--" he broke off as Betty had done, and added after a pause, "I wonder where he is now?"

Betty raised her eyes and met his look. "I do not know," she answered, "but I do know that he will come back;" and the Governor, being wise in his generation, said nothing more.

That afternoon he went down into the country to inspect a decayed plantation which had come into his hands, and returning two days later, he rode into Leicesterburg and up to the steps of the little post-office, where, as usual, the neighbouring farmers lounged while they waited for an expected despatch, or discussed the midday mail with each newcomer. It was April weather, and the afternoon sunshine, having scattered the loose clouds in the west, slanted brightly down upon the dusty street, the little whitewashed building, and the locust tree in full bloom before the porch.

When he had dismounted, the Governor tied his horse to the long white pole, raised for that purpose along the sidewalk, and went slowly up the steps, shaking a dozen outstretched hands before he reached the door.

"What news, gentlemen?" he asked with his pleasant smile. "For two days I have been beyond the papers."