There was a pause, and Oriana, her raiment being partially dried, rested her head upon her arm and slumbered.

The storm increased in violence, and the rain, pelting against the cabin roof, with its weird music, formed a dismal accompaniment to the grotesque discomfort of their situation.  Arthur threw fresh fuel upon the fire, and the crackling twigs sent up a fitful flame, that fell athwart the face of the sleeping girl, and revealed an expression of sorrow upon her features that caused him to turn away with a sigh.

“Arthur,” asked Harold, abruptly, “do you think this unfortunate affair at Sumter will breed much trouble?”

“I fear it,” said Arthur, sadly.  “Our Northern hearts are made of sterner stuff than is consistent with the spirit of conciliation.”

“And what of Southern hearts?”

“You have studied them,” said Arthur, with a pensive smile, and bending his gaze upon the sleeping maiden.

Harold colored slightly, and glanced half reproachfully at his friend.

“I cannot help believing,” continued the latter, “that we are blindly invoking a fatal strife, more in the spirit of exaltation than of calm and searching philosophy.  I am confident that the elements of union still exist within the sections, but my instinct, no less than my judgment, tells me that they will no longer exist when the chariot-wheels of war shall have swept over the land.  Whatever be the disparity of strength, wealth and numbers, and whatever may be the result of encounters upon the battle-field, such a terrible war as both sides are capable of waging can never build up or sustain a fabric whose cement must be brotherhood and kindly feeling.  I would as soon think to woo the woman of my choice with angry words and blows, as to reconcile our divided fellow citizens by force of arms.”

“You are more a philosopher than a patriot,” said Harold, with some bitterness.

“Not so,” answered Arthur, warmly.  “I love my country—­so well, indeed, that I cannot be aroused into hostility to any section of it.  My reason does not admit the necessity for civil war, and it becomes therefore a sacred obligation with me to give my voice against the doctrine of coercion.  My judgment may err, or my sensibilities may be ’too full of the milk of human kindness’ to serve the stern exigencies of the crisis with a Spartan’s callousness and a Roman’s impenetrability; but for you to affirm that, because true to my own opinions, I must be false to my country, is to deny me that independence of thought to which my country, as a nation, owes its existence and its grandeur.”

“You boast your patriotism, and yet you seem to excuse those who seek the dismemberment of your country.”

“I do not excuse them, but I would not have them judged harshly, for I believe they have acted under provocation.”

“What provocation can justify rebellion against a government so beneficent as ours?”