"He's not ugly at all!" she whispered.
Ned softly laughed:
"He certainly is not a beauty?"
"Who expects beauty in a real man?" she answered, with a touch of scorn. And Ned shot a look of inquiry at John's handsome face. But the older brother was too intent on the drama before him to notice. The editor's eyes were riveted on the new President, studying every detail of his impressive personality. He had never seen him before and was trying to form a just and accurate judgment of his character. Beyond a doubt he was big physically—this impression was overwhelming—everything large—the head with its high crown of skull and thick, bushy hair, deep cavernous eyes, heavy eyebrows which moved in quick sympathy with every emotion, large nose, large ears, large mouth, large, thick under lip, very high cheek bones, massive jaw bones with upturned chin, a sinewy long neck, long arms, and large hands, long legs, and big feet. A giant physically—and yet somehow he gave the impression of excessive gauntness and about his face there dwelt a strange impression of sadness and spiritual anguish. The hollowness of his cheeks accented by his swarthy complexion emphasized this.
The crowd had recognized him instantly, but without the slightest applause. The silence was intense, oppressive, painful. John glanced up and saw the huge figure of Senator Wigfall, of Texas, looking down on the scene from the base of one of the white columns of the central façade. He waved his arm defiantly and laughed. His presence in the Senate after all his associates had withdrawn was the subject of keen speculation. He was believed to be a spy of the Confederate Government. He had asked General Scott, half in jest, if he would dare to arrest a Senator of the United States for treason. The answer was significant of the times. Looking the Senator straight in the eye the old hero slowly said:
"No—I'd blow him to hell!"
Evidently the Senator was not as yet unduly alarmed. His expression of triumphant contempt for the evident lack of enthusiasm could not be mistaken. When John Vaughan recalled the confusion in the ranks of the triumphant party he knew that the Senator's scorn would he redoubled if he but knew half the truth. Again he turned toward the tall, lonely man with sinking heart.
The ceremony moved swiftly. The silence was too oppressive to admit delay. Senator Baker, of Oregon, the warm personal friend of Lincoln, stepped quickly to the edge of the platform. With hand outstretched in an easy graceful gesture, he said:
"Fellow Citizens: I introduce to you Abraham Lincoln, the President-elect of the United States of America."
Again the silence of death, as the once ragged, lonely, barefoot boy from a Kentucky cabin stepped forward into the fiercest light that ever beat on human head.