It was a cozy little living room, and the wind and the rain outside only made it the cozier. Belated travelers were still hurrying home on the streets below, in the mud and rain. Every now and then one of them looked in at the window whence came the cheery rays of light and thought as he saw it of his own home and loved ones.
So Helen sat, and sitting, mused.
That fire, how brightly it glowed! What a world of poetry and beauty there was in it, from the deep, velvety coals to the dark, gray ashes. And that tiny, blue flame, how young it looked! That was youth. The coals in the full glow were impetuous manhood, and the dark, somber ashes told her of a life buried away, and reminded her that dust shall return to the earth as it was, and the spirit—the bright, pure, flaming spirit, had it not already vanished into the presence of the God who gave it?
Then, too, the long, dark shadows cast fitfully across the room by the irregular bursts of flames, and the occasional crackling of the good natured logs, and, yes, there surely was a cricket on the hearth. There are many Helens, and readers will see the one who sat by the fire that winter’s night in the fated city, but each looks upon his own Helen and the fire glows upon his own hearthstone. One looks at her and she at the fire, and the light falling over her is bathing her beautiful face till every feature is radiant with its divine glow, and the most fascinating tints seem to tinge each ringlet of her hair, and to sleep and dream in those dark, brown eyes. She, too, was dreaming—though none gazed at her there—of life and love, memories which only they could bring, filling her soul and steadying her nerves for life’s actions.
Gazing, she dreamed of the glowing embers, and they told her of life’s struggle, fierce, hot and fiery, and their crackling spoke of sharp surprises, and every falling coal of losses and separations. She watched the leaden ashes gather over the bright embers, and thought how she, too, would some day return to the dust, after her forehead was wrinkled with age, as the fires of youth slowly burned out, just as every seamed log before her was seamed and scarred by the flames. But these thoughts were only for a moment, for the fire had just been kindled in her heart, and she would have to sit and watch it glow and flicker and flame for a long time yet. Oh, that the kind Father of all spirits had granted that the leaden ashes should have gathered at the same time on her life-hearth as on his, and that their fires might have died out together! It was so hard to outlive those she loved!
During the days that followed, wild rumors came of fires and murder and pillage; and the women and children who would be left in Columbia after Hampton’s cavalry had evacuated the city trembled as they saw the nightly glow in the southeast growing brighter and the smoke growing daily denser. Till at last on the memorable fifteenth of February the men in blue appeared on the Lexington side of the Congaree and fiery shells fell without warning into the city.
Helen, standing by the white pillars of the old colonial porch, saw Major Goodwin riding rapidly down the street. He noticed her, too, and called, “I will get you a guard—am going now to see General Sherman.”
Then the bluecoats appeared here and there in the outskirts of the city, and Hampton’s cavalry hovered on the north to see that all was well before the evacuation. Soon the mayor returned and brought with him four Union soldiers.
“The general readily granted me the guard for you, Miss Brooks,” he said. “In fact, a regiment is to be marched into the city to be used for guards by those who want them. I surrendered the city unconditionally, and I do not fear much danger, as he promised me that all would be as safe in his hands as if I myself were in command.”
“And they will not fire it? Oh, how good of them!”