One evening Griffith sat by the library table reading, and Katherine was moving about the room restlessly. For several days no news had come from the front—no home news, no letters from the absent sons. The door leading to the porch was open and suddenly there stood before them a messenger with a telegram. Katherine grew weak and sick. Griffith tore the envelope open and read. She watched his face. Every vestige of blood had left it, and his head sank on his arms crossed on the table before him. The telegram was crushed in one hand. A groan escaped him, and then a sob shook his frame.

"Which one is it? Which one of my boys is killed? Which—which one?" cried Katherine. She tried to loosen the hand that clasped the message, but he held it crashed, and when he lifted his head tears were streaming down his cheeks. He tried to reassure her. "It is not that," he said hoarsely. "They—the boys are all right, but they have ordered me———." He relaxed his grasp, and his head sank again on his arms.

She took the message and read:

"Washington, D. C.

"Report here immediately.

"A. Lincoln."

For a moment Katherine seemed stunned. She did not comprehend. Then she seemed to rise far above her normal stature.

"You shall not go!" she said. Her eyes blazed. Her hands hung by her sides, but they were clenched until the nails sank into the flesh. The tigress in her was at last aroused. "You shall not go! How dare he? With three of my boys in the army now! With us reduced to this!" She had never complained of the change in her style of living, but she flung out the contemptuous fire within her as she stretched out her arms to indicate the simplicity of her surroundings. "With this in exchange for what we had! With every tie broken! With every luxury and comfort gone! Separated from even the negroes that loved us and begged to come with us! How dare they ask for further sacrifice from us! How dare he!"

Griffith's head lifted slowly. He looked at her in dismay. Was this the patient, compliant wife who had willingly given up her fortune and her home to satisfy his conscience? Was this the silent, demure, self-controlled Katherine—this very tall, angry woman? She looked like a fury unchained. She took a step nearer to him.

"You shall not go!" she repeated, and the astonished messenger-boy fled in affright, as she suddenly threw both arms about Griffith and began to sob convulsively.

Griffith held her to his breast, which heaved and choked him. It seemed to him that he could not speak. At last he whispered softly: "I must go, Katherine. It is an order from the President. I will have to go to Washington." He had not finished speaking until he felt her form begin to shrink and collapse in his grasp.

Her eyes half closed, half opened again, then closed and a ghastly pallor spread itself over her face. For the first time in her life Katherine had fainted. His first thought was that she was dead. A great wave of fear and then of self-reproach swept over him. He sat staring in the ghastly face.

"I have sacrificed her very life to my conscience," he moaned aloud. "I had no right to do that! God help me! God forgive me! What is it right to do? Can we never know what is right?" He was holding her in his arms, with his own face upturned and staring eyes. "God help me! God help me! What is it right to do?" he moaned again.

"'Fo' de good Lawd on high, Mos' Grif, what de matter wif Mis' Kate? What de mattah wif all two, bofe of yoh?" exclaimed Aunt Judy. "I done see dat little rapscallion what brung de telegraf letter run fo' deah life, an' he yell back dat Mis' Kate done gone crazy, an'—"

Judy had hobbled to his side, and her old eyes were growing used to the changed light. She saw his tear-stained face and Katherine's lifeless form in his arms.

"Is Mis' Kate daid, Mos' Grif?" she asked, in an awed voice.

"I have killed her," he said, like one in a dream, looking at the old woman as to one who could be relied on to understand. Katherine's eyelids began to move. They slowly lifted and closed again. The old woman saw it first.

"Mos' Grif, wat fo' yoh tell me dat kine er talk? Mis' Kate, she ain't daid. She's des foolin'. Toh ain't hu'tted, is yoh, honey?" she cooed, stroking Katherine's hair. "Nobody ain't hu'tted yoh, is dey, Mis' Kate? Nobody—"

"Get some water—quick, quick!" said Griffith, and struggled to the couch with his burden. He knelt beside her and stroked her forehead and chafed her hands. He could not speak, but he tried to control his distorted features, that she might not understand—might not remember—when she should open her eyes.

"Heah some wattah, honey. Des yoh take a big sup. Hit gwine ter do yoh good. Dar, now, I gwine ter lif yoah haid. Now, den, yoh des lay des dat away, an' Aunt Judy gwine ter run an' git dat rabbit foot t Dat gwine ter cuah yoh right off. It is dat. Dey ain't no doctah in dis roun' worl' kin cuah yoh like wat dat kin—let erlone one er dees heah Yankee doctahs! Hit fotch me to you alls dat time wat yoh ranned away, an' hit fetch dem roses back to yoah cheeks, too. Dat hit kin!"

She hobbled off to her loft to find her precious and Griffith softly closed and locked the door behind her. Katherine lay so still he thought she had fallen asleep. He could see her breathing. He went to his seat beside the couch and gently fanned her pale face. The color had come again in the lips. Presently he went softly across the room and took up the crumpled message from the floor, where she had dropped it.

"Report here immediately.

"A. Lincoln."

There could be no mistake about that. It was a command from the President, imperative, urgent. He sank into the chair again, and his head fell on his folded arms on the table. His lips were moving, but there was no sound. At last he was conscious of a light tapping on the window. He was surprised to find that it was dark. He crossed the room to find Rosanna outside with a tray.

"Shure, an' Oi troied both dures, an' not a sound did Oi git.'Tis long phast yer tay toime, an' not a pick have ye et—nayther wan av yez. The ould nayger's done fed the baby an' put her t' bed. Shure, an' she's a-galavantin' 'round here thryin' the dures an' windeys, flourishin' the fut ay a bunnie, be jabbers! She says 'tis what yez wants fer yer health; but, sez Oi, viddles is what they wants, sez Oi—an' here they be."

Griffith opened the door.

"Is it wan av the young maisthers kilt, shure?" she whispered, as she put the tray down.

Griffith shook his head.

"Well, thanks be t' Almoighty God an' all the blished saints! Oi feared me it was the young maisther—an' shure an' ye'd go fur and not foind the loikes ay him agin. He looked just simply ghrand in his ossifer's uniforum. Yez moight say ghrand! Shure an' nobody else could match up wid 'im! He looked that rehspectable! An' the schape av 'im!" She threw up her hands and admired the absent Beverly. "The schape av 'im! Yez moight say! He shurely do become them soger close! Now, can't yez ate the rear av thim berries? dear? They're simply ghrand, they're shplendid!"

Katherine seemed to be sleeping, and Griffith soon pushed the tray aside. Rosanna took it up. Then she leaned forward.

"Shure, an' that ould nayger's awful rehspectable; ye can see that by the lukes ay her; but she's thet foolish with her ould ded bunnie fut thet she makes me craipy in me shpine."

She glanced about her before venturing out, and then made a sudden dash for the kitchen.