"There's nothing to tell, child. We must each decide these big things of life for himself. I'll never draw my sword against the Union. My fathers created it. I've fought for it. I've lived for it. And I've got to die for it, if must be, that's all—"
He paused, withdrew his hand from hers, rose and put it on Stuart's shoulder.
"You've chosen a fine boy for your husband, my daughter. I love him. I'm proud of him. I shall always be proud that your children bear his name. He must fight this battle of his allegiance in his own soul and answer to God, not to me. I would not dare to try to influence him."
Stuart rose and grasped the Colonel's hand. His eyes were moist.
"Thank you, Colonel. I shall always remember this hour with you and my Flora. And I shall always love and respect you, in life or death, success or failure."
The older man held Stuart's hand in a strong grip.
"It grieves me to feel that you may fight the Union, my son. I have seen the end in a vision already. The Union is indissoluble. The stars in their courses have said it."
"It may be, sir," Stuart slowly answered. "Who knows? We must do each what we believe to be right, as God gives us to see the right."
The little mother was softly crying. Her hopes had faded. There was the note of finality in each word her men had uttered. She was crushed.
For an hour she talked in tender commonplaces. She tried to be cheerful for her father's sake. She saw that he was suffering cruelly at the thought of saying a goodbye that might be the last.