"Not by a long shot, my child! Brush those tears away. Jeffy D.'s the man to be discouraged to-day. This will be a dearly bought victory. Mark my word. For the South it's the glorious end of the war. While they shout, I'll be sawing wood. It needed just this shock and humiliation to bring the North to their senses. Watch them buckle on their armor now in deadly earnest. The demagogues howled for a battle. They pushed us in and they got it. Some of the Congressmen who yelled the loudest for a march straight into Richmond without a pause even to water the horses got tangled up in that stampede from Bull Run. They thought Jeb Stuart's cavalry were on them and lost their lunch baskets in the scramble. They've seen a great light. I'll get all the money I ask Congress for and all the soldiers we need for any length of time. I've asked for four hundred million dollars and five hundred thousand men for three years. I shouldn't be surprised if they voted more. The people will have sense enough to see that this defeat was exactly what they should have expected under such conditions."
His spirit was contagious. Betty forgot her shame and fear.
"You're wonderful, Mr. President," the girl cried in rapt tones. "Now I know that you have come into the kingdom for such a time as this."
"And so have you, my child," he answered reverently. "And so has every brave woman who loves this Union. That's what I wanted to say to you and thank you for your example."
Betty left the White House with a new sense of loyal inspiration. She walked on air unconscious of the pouring rain. She paused before a throng that blocked the sidewalk.
Some of them were bareheaded, the rain drops splashing in their faces, apparently unconscious of anything that was happening.
She pushed her way into the crowd. They were looking at the bulletin board of the Daily Republican, reading the first list of the dead and wounded. Her heart suddenly began to pound. John Vaughan had not reported his return. He might be lying stark and cold with the rain beating down on his mangled body. She read each name in the list of the dead, and drew a sigh of relief. But the last bulletin was not cheering. It promised additional names for a later edition. Besides, the War Department might not be relied on for reports of non-combatants. A newspaper correspondent was not enrolled as a soldier. His death might remain unrecorded for days.
On a sudden impulse she started to enter the office and ask if he had returned, stopped, blushed, turned and hurried home with a new fear mingled with a strange joy beating in her heart.