At length, after a thoughtful pause, Dr. Rosenthal spoke; but he spoke rather wide of the mark; for though nothing could have been plainer than the words used by Mr. Goldsborough, and although Dr. Rosenthal understood the meaning of those words, yet he strangely misunderstood the position assumed by the speaker. He honestly supposed that the Virginian gentleman, in speaking of secession, spoke of it only as deprecating its evils. This was very apparent in his answer:
“You say that Virginia will certainly secede from the United States, and that she is even now arming herself in defense of her right to do so! Nonsense, Goldsborough! Don’t alarm yourself! There is, certainly, an epidemical madness in the air, and a few leading statesmen have caught it. South Carolina has gone, it is true! She took the malady in its most malignant form. Let us hope that she will soon get well and come back. But Virginia secede! The gallant Old Dominion go! Never, Goldsborough! Don’t distrust your native State, my friend! She is as loyal to the Union as you are, or as I am! And, Heaven knows, I love this country, which has fostered me for forty years—I love her as truly and as deeply as if I had been born her son! And should this madness of secession become general, and should she have a civil war forced upon her, I, with my three score years, will take up arms in her defense as promptly as you, Goldsborough, or as Eastworth, or any other loyal and gallant son of her soil would do!”
What a speech was this for the brave and true-hearted old man to make to a couple of conscientious, but unsuspected secessionists, who were his honored guests.
Neither of them answered a word; they found that they had mistaken their man; for this was really the first definition of his position that the Lutheran minister had ever thought it worth while to make; and Eastworth had supposed him to be indifferent on the subject; and Goldsborough, seeing one of the strongest spirits of secession an inmate of his house, had really believed him to be one of that party. They were silent from surprise.
But Erminie was a picture! She turned upon her father, beaming with love, admiration and enthusiasm as she exclaimed:
“Right, my dear father! I love to hear you speak so. And I myself would strap the sword to your side and place the musket in your hand, and follow you to the field, if you would let me, to dress your wounds if you should be hurt, and nurse you if you be sick; and to risk my life with yours and die with you, if need should be!”
“There, there, my darling; I know you are a brave and good girl! and there are millions of your countrywomen like you! for you are a native American citizen, my Minie, although I am not,” said the Lutheran minister, patting his daughter on the head. “But there will be no necessity, let us hope, for all this self-devotion! The clouds of secession gather rather thickly and darkly just now, but they will be dispelled—they will be dispelled,” he added, walking away to the fireplace.
Colonel Eastworth took the vacant place beside Erminie, and stooped and whispered very low:
“And what will become of me, my Minie, when you shall follow your father to the field? Where shall I be, and who will care for me?”
“You will be with my father, and I will care for you both! Surely you will stand shoulder to shoulder with my father, in defense of our beloved country! And as surely I shall be near to minister to you both!” answered Erminie, looking up with surprise.