And yet Stephen believed.  For to him had been vouchsafed the glimpse beyond.

That was a dark winter that followed, the darkest in our history.  Gloom and despondency came fast upon the heels of Republican exultation.  Men rose early for tidings from Charleston, the storm centre.  The Union was cracking here and there.  Would it crumble in pieces before Abraham Lincoln got to Washington?

One smoky morning early in December Stephen arrived late at the office to find Richter sitting idle on his stool, concern graven on his face.

“The Judge has had no breakfast, Stephen,” he whispered.  “Listen!  Shadrach tells me he has been doing that since six this morning, when he got his newspaper.”

Stephen listened, and he heard the Judge pacing and pacing in his room.  Presently the door was flung open, And they saw Mr. Whipple standing in the threshold, stern and dishevelled.  Astonishment did not pause here.  He came out and sat down in Stephen’s chair, striking the newspaper in his hand, and they feared at first that his Mind had wandered.

“Propitiate!” he cried, “propitiate, propitiate, and again propitiate.  How long, O Lord?” Suddenly he turned upon Stephen, who was frightened.  But now his voice was natural, and he thrust the paper into the young man’s lap.  “Have you read the President’s message to Congress, sir?  God help me that I am spared to call that wobbling Buchanan President.  Read it.  Read it, sir.  You have a legal brain.  Perhaps you can tell me why, if a man admits that it is wrong for a state to abandon this Union, he cannot call upon Congress for men and money to bring her back.  No, this weakling lets Floyd stock the Southern arsenals.  He pays tribute to Barbary.  He is for bribing them not to be angry.  Take Cuba from Spain, says he, and steal the rest of Mexico that the maw of slavery may be filled, and the demon propitiated.”

They dared not answer him.  And so he went back into his room, shutting the door.  That day no clients saw him, even those poor ones dependent on his charity whom had never before denied.  Richter and Stephen took counsel together, and sent Shadrach out for his dinner.

Three weeks passed.  There arrived a sparkling Sunday, brought down the valley of the Missouri from the frozen northwest.  The Saturday had been soggy and warm.

Thursday had seen South Carolina leave that Union into which she was born, amid prayers and the ringing of bells.  Tuesday was to be Christmas day.  A young lady, who had listened to a solemn sermon of Dr. Posthelwaite’s, slipped out of Church before the prayers were ended, and hurried into that deserted portion of the town about the Court House where on week days business held its sway.

She stopped once at the bottom of the grimy flight of steps leading to Judge Whipple’s office.  At the top she paused again, and for a short space stood alert, her glance resting on the little table in the corner, on top of which a few thumbed law books lay neatly piled.  Once she made a hesitating step in this direction.  Then, as if by a resolution quickly taken, she turned her back and softly opened the door of the Judge’s room.  He was sitting upright in his chair.  A book was open in his lap, but it did not seem to Virginia that he was reading it.