The North was marching southward with ropes and handcuffs with which to end in triumph their holiday excursion on July 4. The South was marching to meet them with eager pride, each man afraid the fight would be over before he could reach the front to fire a single shot. And behind each gay regiment of scornful men marched the white silent figure of Death.
CHAPTER XV
THE HOUSE ON CHURCH HILL
As Socola left his room at the Spotswood the following night, a stranger met him at the turn of the dimly lighted corridor.
"Signor Socola, I believe?"
"At your service."
"I know some mutual friends in Washington connected with the Sardinian Ministry—"
"I'm just starting for a stroll through the city," Socola interrupted. "Will you join me?"