His lip trembled a little as he spoke, and he still stood, hesitating, at the stair-door.
“Well, Robert, nothing will happen to-night, I know. You can go to bed without fear to-night. To-morrow, maybe, danger will come again, we cannot tell. But to-night, I believe we are safe.”
He saw that, for some reason, the boy’s emotions were deeply stirred, and he imagined it was due to a suddenly augmented fear of what might happen to his father.
“You don’t know anything, do you, Bob?” he inquired suddenly. “You haven’t heard of danger immediately at hand? Did Seth Mills tell you anything that would lead you to think—?”
“No, father, oh no! I was just—well, I won’t worry about you to-night, anyway. But if anything should happen that we don’t see each other again—for a good while—I’d like to have you think that while I believe in Abraham Lincoln, and in the Union, and in the war, I believe in you, too, and I wouldn’t want, ever, to do anything that would seem to be disloyal to you.”
“No, Bob, of course not. I believe that. I’m sorry these Northern notions of patriotism have entered so deeply into your mind. But, when you’re older and understand things better, you’ll think differently. There, go along to bed, now. You’re tired and nervous to-night. In the morning you’ll feel better.”
He held out his hand and Bob came over and clasped it tightly.
“Good-night, father!”
“Good-night!”
The boy went on to bed, and Rhett Bannister resumed his reading. But he could keep neither his mind nor his eyes on the printed page. He was thinking of his son upstairs. Once a sudden and startling thought came to him, more by way of intuition than suggestion. He dropped his book, rose to his feet, and stood staring at the door through which Bob had gone. But a sound of voices came to him faintly down the stairway, natural, reassuring voices, and after a minute he sat down again and took up his book, and whatever apprehensive thought it was that had so suddenly and strangely entered his mind, he dismissed it and resumed his reading.