"You pretend to be men and call this war!"
Just then she caught sight of her father in the group. "You too!" she gasped, and fell fainting from her horse.
When she came to she was in her father's arms, the men had gone, and bending over her was Helen Osborne, bathing her face. She opened her eyes and then, shuddering, closed them again. She had looked into the face of a man stricken as unto death.
"Grace, Grace," he moaned, "another such look as that will kill me. You do not understand. I was trying to save life, not take it."
A shiver went through her body, but she did not open her eyes nor answer.
"Grace, hear me. I am not what you think. O God!"
"What did you say, father?" she whispered.
"That I was trying to save Mr. Osborne, not hang him."
Once more her eyes opened, but now they looked with love into her father's face. "Thank God!" she murmured, and her arms went around his neck. The strong man wept as he clasped her to his breast and kissed her again and again.
"Take me home," she whispered weakly. "I feel, oh, so faint!"
On the invitation of Mr. Chittenden the Osbornes accompanied him. The next day he sent them out of the country.
When Grace was strong enough to hear, her father told her all. Mr. Osborne's pronounced Northern principles had made him very obnoxious to those who sympathized with the South. "It was for this reason, Grace," he said, "I forbade your visiting Helen. Even a friendly intercourse between you two would have brought suspicion on me. You cannot understand the terrible feeling towards all Yankees and those who sympathize with them. Mr. Osborne was repeatedly warned to leave the country, but he paid no attention to the warnings. Instead, he became active in giving information to the Federal authorities. Some time ago it became known that he had sent to the Federal commander at Rolla the name of every active Southern sympathizer in the country. My name was on the list as one of the leaders.
"This was too much for the boys, and they decided on summary punishment, but, knowing that I was opposed to extreme means, they tried to keep what they were to do from me. I found it out and did all in my power to save him, but a vote was taken, and it was decided he should be burned out and then hanged. It was only your timely arrival that saved him. He is well out of the country now, for which I am thankful."
Grace listened to his account in silence, then said: "I'm so glad, father, you tried to save him. I thought—oh, I can't tell what I thought, it was so dreadful."
She then seemed struggling with herself, as if she wanted to say something and dared not.
"What is it, child?" asked Mr. Chittenden gently.
Looking at him with yearning eyes, she whispered, "Do you love me?"
"What a question, Grace! Better than my life! You should know that!"
"And will you let anything come between? Will you always love me, even if I am not what you think?"
"Grace, what do you mean?" he cried, brokenly. A terrible suspicion came to him that her mind was wandering, that the shock she had received had unbalanced her reason.
"Father, I must tell you. I cannot think as you do. This war is terrible, and I believe the South is all in the wrong."
Mr. Chittenden could only gasp his astonishment, then he commenced laughing. "Is that all, Grace? I thought—well, it hardly matters what I thought. It was unworthy of me. But what makes you think the South is all wrong?"
"I do not know as I can make you understand, but, father—I hate slavery! I think I was born with a love for freedom. I have drunk it in from my childhood. This valley, the grand old hills around it, all speak of freedom. La Belle murmurs it as her waters dance and sparkle on their way to the sea. The wind in the trees sings of freedom, the birds warble it."
"Grace, you are poetic; it is only these fancies that make you think as you do."
"No, father. You know I love history, and you have some good histories in your library. I have learned how slavery came into this country, how it grew; and I also know something about what is called State Rights. I believe the South claims any State has a perfect right to withdraw from the Union at pleasure."
"Yes, the doctrine is true. We are no rebels."
"I can't believe it. To trample on the flag of our common country is rebellion. Father, I love the starry flag. I carry it next my heart." To her father's surprise, she put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a tiny flag. "I made it, father, at school. While the other girls were making Confederate flags, I made this one."
Mr. Chittenden could only say, "Thank God, you are not a boy."
"Father, you do not hate me?"
"No, child; I look at what you have said as only the foolish fancies of a girl. You will laugh at them yourself when you are older. But, Grace, let me ask you a question. According to your ideas I am a rebel. Does that make you love me less?"
For answer she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "No, father, for you are doing what you think right. If you were in the army, riding at the head of your regiment, I would be proud of you—pray for you."
"Would to God that I could," cried Mr. Chittenden, "and, old as I am, I would if it were not for this infernal rupture. But, Grace, I can never forget that look you gave me when you thought I was one of the gang about to hang Osborne. If I had been, would you still love me?" His voice trembled as he asked the question.
The girl shivered and was silent for a moment, then said: "When—when I thought you were, it was as if a dagger had pierced my heart. I believe I would have died then and there if I had not learned differently. It would have been my love for you that would have killed me. To think my father was a mur——"
She did not finish the sentence. A look of anguish, of terror, came into the father's face. He trembled like a leaf—what if his daughter knew his past!
"What is it, father?" cried Grace in alarm.
With a tremendous effort Mr. Chittenden recovered his composure. "Nothing now, Grace, but your words were so terrible. Don't say them again, Grace. I—I would die if I lost my daughter's love."
"You never will, father. You are too good, too noble," and she drew his head down and kissed him again and again.
Oh! the past! the past! How it stung that father as he felt his daughter's pure kisses on his brow!
"Father, you are not angry with me, are you?" asked Grace, wondering at his silence.
"No, darling; only, for my sake, keep your belief to yourself."
"For your sake I will be just as little a Yankee as possible," answered Grace, smiling.