Well she understood. Her husband had done his utmost to secure a reconciliation. Love had its rights, its sacrifices; with these she had to do, and not with his official conduct and public acts.
She knew well what that trifle of a chamois case contained. It was the miniature of their child, the little one of earth no more, but heaven-born: the winged child, with the flame above its head,—symbols with which, of old, they loved to represent Genius. This miniature was set in diamonds; it was the mother's gift to the father of the child: this woman's gift to the man whom loyal men to-day call traitor, rebel, alien, enemy.
And thus he appealed to her. Oh, tender was the voice! This love that called had in its utterances proof that it held by its immortality. The love that pleaded with her appealed to recollections the most sacred, the most dear, the perpetual,—knowing what was in her heart, knowing how it would respond.
But there, where Julius left the miniature, it lay; a letter beside it now, and a purse of gold,—pure gold,—not a Confederate note among it.
Poor Julia Edgar! she need not open the case that shone with such starry splendor. Never could be hidden from her eyes the face of the child. How should she not see again, in all its beauty, the garden where her darling had played, little hands filled full of blooms, little face whose smiling was as that of angels, butterflies sporting around her as the wonderful one of old flitted about St. Rose,—alas! with as sure a prophecy as that black and golden one? How clearly she saw again, through heavy clouds of tears that never broke, the garden's glory, all its peace, its happiness, its pride, and love!
No argument, no word, could have pleaded for the father of the child like this. But it was love pleading against love,—Earth's beseeching and need, against Heaven's warning and sufficience.
At last she spoke again.
"What is your reward, Julius, for all this danger you've incurred for him, and for me?"
"He said it should be my liberty."
How he spoke those words! Liberty! it was the golden dream of the man's life, yet he named it with a self-control that commanded her admiration and reverence.