“Quite right!” broke in the leader again.  “But let us look simply at the gravity of it.  They say it is treason not only against our own country but against a foreign power which this woman is fomenting.  The Austrian attache, Mr. Hulsemann, is altogether rabid over the matter.  He said to me privately—­”

“Then most improperly!” broke in the tall dark man.

“Improperly, but none the less, insistently, he said that his government will not tolerate her reception here.  He charges her with machinations in Europe, under cover of President Taylor’s embassy of investigation into Hungarian affairs.  He declares that Russia and Austria are one in their plans.  That, I fear, means also England, as matters now stand in Europe.”

“But, sir,” broke in the vibrant voice of a gentleman who sat at the left of the speaker, concealed in the shadow cast by the heavy window drapings, “what is our concern over that?  It is our boast that this is a free country.  As for England, we have taken her measure, once in full, a second time at least in part; and as for Austria or Russia, what have we to do with their territorial designs?  Did they force us to fight, why, then, we might fight, and with proper reason.”

“True again, sir!” said the leader, recognizing the force of the murmur which greeted this outburst.  “It is not any of these powers that I fear.  They might bluster, and still not fight; and indeed they lack any rational cause for war.  But what I fear, what all of us fear, gentlemen, is the danger here, inside our own walls, inside our own country.”

Silence again fell on all.  They looked about them, as though even in this dimly lighted room they felt the presence of that ominous shadow which lay over all the land—­the menace of a divided country.

“That is the dread of all of us,” went on the leader.  “The war with Mexico showed us where England stands.  She proved herself once more our ancient enemy, showed that her chief desire is to break this republic.  Before that war, and after it, she has cultivated a friendship with the South.  Why?  Now let the abolitionist bring on this outbreak which he covets, let the North and South fly at each other’s throats, let the contending powers of Europe cross the seas to quarrel over the spoils of our own destruction—­and what then will be left of this republic?  And yet, if this compromise between North and South be broken as all Europe desires, and as all the North threatens, precisely those matters will come hurrying upon us.  And they will find us divided, incapable of resistance.  That is the volcano, the magazine, over which we dwell continually.  It passes politics, and puts us as patriots upon the question of the endurance of our republic.