"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?"