"A long three years. Sometimes when I look toward the North, where Washington lies, I begin to wonder about Lincoln. I hear bad things spoken of him here, and then there are others who say he is not bad."
"The 'others' are right, I think."
"I am glad to hear you say so. I feel sorry for him, such a lonely man and so unhappy, they say. I wish I knew all the wrong and right of this cruel struggle."
"It would take the wisdom of the angels for that."
They walked on a little farther in silence, passing now near the Capitol and its surrounding group of structures.
"What are they doing these days up there on Shockoe?" asked Prescott.
"Congress is in session and meets again in the morning, but I imagine it can do little. Our fate rests with the armies and the President."
A deep mellow note sounded from the hill and swelled far over the city. In the dead silence of the night it penetrated like a cannon shot, and the echo seemed to Prescott to come back from the far forest and the hills beyond the James. It was quickly followed by another and then others until all Richmond was filled with the sound.
Prescott felt the hand upon his arm clasp him in nervous alarm.
"What does that noise mean?" he cried.