"O, I like books with daylight in them! I want them to be living, upper-air, joyous books. There must be sunshine, and birds, and brooks,—human nature, life, suffering, aspiration, and——"
"And love?"
"Of course, there should be a little love in books, since there is sometimes a little, I believe, in real life." But she touched this subject with such airy lightness,—just hovering over it for an instant, and then away, like a butterfly not to be caught,—that Penn felt a jealous trouble. "How long," she added immediately, "do you imagine we shall have to stay here?"
"It is impossible to say," replied Penn, turning with reluctance to the more practical topic. "One would think that the government cannot leave us much longer subject to this atrocious tyranny. An army may be already marching to our relief. But it may be weeks, it may be months, and I am not sure," he added seriously, "but it may be years, before Tennessee is relieved."
"Why, that is terrible! Toby says that poor old man, Mr. Ellerton, who assisted you to escape, was caught and hung by some of the soldiers yesterday."
"I have no doubt but it is true. Although he had returned to his home, he was known to be a Unionist, and probably he was suspected of having aided us; in which case not even his white hairs could save him."
"But it is horrible! They have commenced woman-whipping. And Toby says a negro was hung six times a couple of days ago, and afterwards cut to pieces, for saying to another negro he met, 'Good news; Lincoln's army is coming!' What is going to become of us, if relief doesn't arrive soon? O, to look at the beautiful world we are driven from by these wicked, wicked men!"
"And are you so very weary of the cave?"
Penn gave her a look full of electric tenderness, which seemed to say, "Have not I been with you? and am I nothing to you?"
She smiled, and her voice was tremulous as she answered,—