“I passed him coming out of town and he was trembling like a leaf,” replied the rector. “He looks badly, by the way. I must remember to tell the doctor he needs building up.”
“He didn't speak about this, eh?”
“About South Carolina? Oh, yes, he spoke, sir. It happened that Jack Powell came up with him when I did—the boy was cheering with all his might, and I heard him ask the Governor if he questioned the right of the state to secede?”
“And Peyton said, sir?” The Major leaned eagerly toward him.
“He said,” pursued the rector, laughing softly. “'God forbid, my boy, that I should question the right of any man or any country to pursue folly.'”
“Folly!” cried the Major, sharply, firing at the first sign of opposition. “It was a brave deed, sir, a brave deed—and I—yes, I envy the honour for Virginia. And as for Peyton Ambler, it is my belief that it is he who has sapped the courage of the state. Why, my honest opinion is that there are not fifty men in Virginia with the spirit to secede—and they are women.”
The rector laughed and tapped his wine-glass.
“You mustn't let that reach Mrs. Lightfoot's ears, Major,” he cautioned, “for I happen to know that she prides herself upon being what the papers call a 'skulker.'” He stopped and rose heavily to his feet, for, at this point, the door was opened by Cupid and the old lady rustled stiffly into the room.
“I came down to tell you, Mr. Lightfoot, that you really must not allow yourself to become excited,” she explained, when the rector had comfortably settled her upon the hearth-rug.
“Pish! tush! my dear, there's not a cooler man in Virginia,” replied the Major, frowning; but for the rest of the evening he brooded in troubled silence in his easy chair.