PREPARATION
Graham learned with deep satisfaction that the dangerous symptoms of
his aunt's illness had passed away, and that she was now well advanced
in convalescence. They gave to each other an hour or two of unreserved
confidence; and the old lady's eyes filled with tears more than once as
she saw how vain had been her nephew's struggle. It was equally clear,
however, that he had gained strength and a nobler manhood in the
effort; and so she told him.
"If supper is ready," he replied, "I'll prove to you that I am in very
fair condition."
An hour later he left her, cheerful and comparatively happy, for the
St. Johns' cottage. From the piazza he saw through the lighted windows
a home-scene that he had once dreamed might bless his life. Hilland,
evidently, was reading the evening paper aloud, and his back was toward
his friend. The major was nervously drumming on the table with his
fingers, and contracting his frosty eyebrows, as if perturbed by the
news. But it was on the young wife that Graham's eyes dwelt longest.
She sat with some sewing on the further side of the open fire, and her
face was toward him. Had she changed? Yes; but for the better. The
slight matronly air and fuller form that had come with wifehood became
her better than even her girlish grace. As she glanced up to her
husband from time to time, Graham saw serene loving trust and content.
"It is all well with them," he thought; "and so may it ever be."
A servant who was passing out opened the door, and thus he was admitted
without being announced, for he cautioned the maid to say nothing. Then
pushing open the parlor door, which was ajar, he entered, and said
quietly: "I've come over for a game of whist."
But the quietness of his greeting was not reciprocated. All rose
hastily, even to the major, and stared at him. Then Hilland half
crushed the proffered hand, and the major grasped the other, and there
came a fire of exclamations and questions that for a moment or two left
no space for answer.
Grace cried: "Come, Warren, give Mr. Graham a chance to get his breath
and shake hands with me. I propose to count for something in this
welcome."
"Give him a kiss, sweetheart," said her delighted husband.
Grace hesitated, and a slight flush suffused her face. Graham quickly
bent over her hand, which he now held, and kissed it, saying: "I've
been among the Orientals so long that I've learned some of their
customs of paying homage. I know that you are queen here as of old, and
that Hilland is by this time the meekest of men."
"Indeed, was I so imperious in old times?" she asked, as he threw
himself, quite at home, into one of the easy-chairs.
"You are of those who are born to rule. You have a way of your own,
however, which some other rulers might imitate to advantage."
"Well, my first command is that you give an account of yourself. So
extensive a traveller never sat down at our quiet fireside before. Open
your budget of wonders. Only remember we have some slight acquaintance
with Baron Munchausen."
"The real wonders of the world are more wonderful than his inventions.
Beyond that I hastened home by the shortest possible route after
receiving Hilland's letter, I have little to say."
"I thought my letter would stir you up."
"In sincerity, I must say it did not. The postscript did, however."
"Then, in a certain sense, it was I who brought you home, Mr. Graham,"
said Grace. "I had just returned from a call on Mrs. Mayburn, and I
made Warren open the letter and add the postscript. I assure you we
were exceedingly anxious about her for weeks."
"And from what she has told me I am almost convinced that she owes her
life more to you than to her physician. Drugs go but a little way,
especially at her time of life; but the delicacies and nourishing food
you saw she was provided with so regularly rallied her strength. Yes;
it was your postscript that led to my immediate return, and not
Hilland's political blast."
"Why, Graham! Don't you realize what's going on here?"
"Not very seriously."
"You may have to fight, old fellow."
"I've no objections after I have decided which side to take."
"Good heavens, Graham! you will be mobbed if you talk that way here in
New England. This comes of a man's living abroad so much that he loses
all love for his native land."
"Squabbling politicians are not one's native land. I am not a hater of
slavery as you are; and if it produces types of men and women like that
Southern lady of whom I told you, it must be an excellent institution."
"Oh, yes," cried Hilland laughing. "By the way, Grace, my cool, cynical
friend was once madly in love--at first sight, too--and with a lady old
enough to be his mother. I never heard a woman's character sketched
more tenderly; and his climax was that your mother must have closely
resembled her."
"Mr. Graham is right," said the major impressively. "The South produces
the finest women in the world; and when the North comes to meet its
men, as I fear it must, it will find they are their mothers' sons."
"Poor Warren!" cried Grace; "here are all three of us against you--all
pro-slavery and Southern in our sympathies."
"I admit at once that the South has produced THE finest woman in the
world," said Hilland, taking his wife's hand. "But I must add that many
of her present productions are not at all to my taste; nor will they be
to yours, Graham, after you have been here long enough to understand
what is going on--that is, if anything at home can enlist your
interest."
"I assure you I am deeply interested. It's exhilarating to breathe
American air now, especially so after just coming from regions where
everything has been dead for centuries; for the people living there now
are scarcely alive. Of course I obtained from the papers in Egypt very
vague ideas of what was going on; and after receiving your letter my
mind was too preoccupied with my aunt's illness to dwell on much
besides. If the flag which gave me protection abroad, and under which I
was born, is assailed, I shall certainly fight for it, even though I
may not be in sympathy with the causes which led to the quarrel. What I
said about being undecided as to which side I would take was a
half-jocular way of admitting that I need a great deal of information;
and between you and the major I am in a fair way to hear both sides. I
cannot believe, however, that a civil war will break out in this land
of all others. The very idea seems preposterous, and I am not beyond
the belief that the whole thing is political excitement. I have learned
this much, that the old teachings of Calhoun have borne their
legitimate fruit, and that the Cotton States by some hocus-pocus
legislation declare themselves out of the Union. But then the rational,
and to my mind inevitable, course will be, that the representative men
of both sides will realize at last to what straits their partisanship
is bringing them, and so come together and adjust their real or fancied
grievances. Meanwhile, the excitement will die out; and a good many
will have a dim consciousness that they have made fools of themselves,
and go quietly about their own business the rest of their days."
"Graham, you don't know anything about the true state of affairs," said
Hilland; and before the evening was over he proved his words true to
his friend, who listened attentively to the history of his native land
for the past few months. In conclusion, Hilland said, "At one time--not
very long ago, either--I held your opinion that it was the old game of
bluster and threatening on the part of Southern politicians. But they
are going too far; they have already gone too far. In seizing the
United States forts and other property, they have practically waged war
against the government. My opinions have changed from week to week
under the stern logic of events, and I now believe that the leading
spirits in the South mean actual and final separation. I've no doubt
that they hope to effect their purpose peaceably, and that the whole
thing will soon be a matter of diplomacy between two distinct
governments. But they are preparing for war, and they will have it,
too, to their hearts' content. President Buchanan is a muff. He sits
and wrings his hands like an old woman, and declares he can do nothing.
But the new administration will soon be in power, and it will voice the
demand of the North that this nonsense be stopped; and if no heed is
given, it will stop it briefly, decisively."
"My son Warren," said the major, "you told your friend some time since
that he knew nothing about this affair. You must permit me to say the
same to you. I feat that both sides have gone too far, much too far;
and what the end will be, and when it will come, God only knows."
Before many weeks passed Graham shared the same view.
Events crowded upon each other; pages of history were made daily, and
often hourly. In every home, as well as in the cottages wherein dwelt
the people of my story, the daily journals were snatched and read at
the earliest possible moment. Many were stern and exultant like
Hilland; more were dazed and perplexed, feeling that something ought to
be done to stem the torrent, and at the same time were astonished and
troubled to find that perhaps a next-door neighbor sympathized with the
rebellion and predicted its entire success. The social atmosphere was
thick with doubt, heavy with despondency, and often lurid with anger.
Graham became a curious study to both Grace and his aunt; and sometimes
his friend and the major were inclined to get out of patience with him.
He grew reticent on the subject concerning which all were talking, but
he read with avidity, not only the history of the day, but of the past
as it related to the questions at issue.
One of his earliest acts had been the purchase of a horse noted in town
as being so powerful, spirited, and even vicious, that few dared to
drive or ride him. He had finally brought his ill-repute to a climax by
running away, wrecking the carriage, and breaking his owner's ribs. He
had since stood fuming in idleness; and when Graham wished him brought
to the unused stable behind his aunt's cottage, no one would risk the
danger. Then the young man went after the horse himself.
"I've only one man in my employ who dares clean and take care of him,"
remarked the proprietor of the livery stable where he was kept; "and he
declares that he won't risk his life much longer unless the brute is
used and tamed down somewhat. There's your property and I'd like to
have it removed as soon as possible."
"I'll remove it at once," said Graham, quietly; and paying no heed to
the crowd that began to gather when it was bruited that
"Firebrand"--for such was the horse's name--was to be brought out, he
took a bridle and went into the stall, first speaking gently, then
stroking the animal with an assured touch. The horse permitted himself
to be bridled and led out; but there was an evil fire in his eye, and
he gave more than one ominous snort of defiance. The proprietor,
smitten by a sudden compunction, rushed forward and cried, "Look here,
sir; you are taking your life in your hand."
"I say, Graham," cried Hilland's voice, "what scrape are you in, that
you have drawn such a crowd?"
"No scrape at all," said Graham, looking around and recognizing his
friend and Grace mounted and passing homeward from their ride. "I've
had the presumption to think that you would permit me to join you
occasionally, and so have bought a good horse. Isn't he a beauty?"
"What, Firebrand?"
"That's his present name. I shall re-christen him."
"Oh, come, Graham! if you don't value your neck, others do. You've been
imposed upon."
"I've warned him--" began the keeper of the livery stable; but here the
horse reared and tried to break from Graham's grasp.
"Clear the way," the young man cried; and as the brute came down he
seized his mane and vaulted upon his bare back. The action was so
sudden and evidently so unexpected that the horse stood still and
quivered for a moment, then gave a few prodigious bounds; but the rider
kept his seat so perfectly that he seemed a part of the horse. The
beast next began to rear, and at one time it seemed as if he would fall
over backward, and his master sprang lightly to the ground. But the
horse was scarcely on all fours before Graham was on his back again.
The brute had the bit in his teeth, and paid no attention to it. Graham
now drew a flexible rawhide from his pocket, and gave his steed a
severe cut across the flanks. The result was another bound into the
air, such as experts present declared was never seen before; and then
the enraged animal sped away at a tremendous pace There was a shout of
applause; and Hilland and Grace galloped after, but soon lost sight of
Graham. Two hours later he trotted quietly up to their door, his
coal-black horse white with foam, quivering in every muscle, but
perfectly subdued.
"I merely wished to assure you that my neck was safe, and that I have a
horse fit to go to the war that you predict so confidently," he said to
Hilland, who with Grace rushed out on the piazza.
"I say, Graham, where did you learn to ride?" asked his friend.
"Oh, the horses were nobler animals than the men in some of the lands
where I have been, and I studied them. This creature will be a faithful
friend in a short time. You have no idea how much intelligence such a
horse as this has if he is treated intelligently. I don't believe he
has ever known genuine kindness. I'll guarantee that I can fire a
pistol between his ears within two weeks, and that he won't flinch.
Good-by. I shall be my own hostler for a short time, and must work an
hour over him after the run he's had."
"Well," exclaimed Hilland, as he passed into the house with his wife,
"I admit that Graham has changed. He was always great on tramps, but I
never knew him to care for a horse before."
Grace felt that he had changed ever since he had leaned for support
against the apple-tree by which he was now passing down the frozen
walk, but she only said, "I never saw such superb horsemanship."
She had not thought Graham exactly fine-looking in former days; but in
his absence his slight figure had filled out, and his every movement
was instinct with reserved force. The experiences through which he had
passed removed him, as she was conscious, beyond the sphere of ordinary
men. Even his marked reticence about himself and his views was
stimulating to the imagination. Whether he had conquered his old regard
for her she could not tell. He certainly no longer avoided her, and he
treated her with the frank courtesy he would naturally extend to his
friend's wife. But he spent far more time with his aunt than with them;
and it became daily more and more evident that he accepted the major's
view, and was preparing for what he believed would be a long and
doubtful conflict. Since it must come, he welcomed the inevitable, for
in his condition of mind it was essential that he should be intensely
occupied. Although his aunt had to admit that he was a little peculiar,
his manner was simple and quiet; and when he joined his friends on
their drives or at their fireside, he was usually as genial as they
could desire, and his tenderness for his aunt daily increased the
respect which he had already won from Grace.