Nature had endowed Scoville with a quick, active mind, and circumstances had developed its power and capacity to a degree scarcely warranted by his age. Orphaned early in life, compelled to hold his own among comparative strangers since childhood, he had gained a worldly wisdom and self-reliance which he could not have acquired in a sheltered home. He had learned to look at facts and people squarely, to estimate values and character promptly, and then to decide upon his own action unhesitatingly. Although never regarded as the model good boy at the boarding-schools wherein he had spent most of his life, he had been a general favorite with both teachers and scholars. A certain frankness in mischief and buoyancy of spirit had carried him through all difficulties, while his apt mind and retentive memory always kept him near to the head of his classes. The quality of alertness was one of his characteristics. In schools and at the university he quickly mastered their small politics and prevailing tendencies, and he often amused his fellow-pupils with free-handed yet fairly truthful sketches of their instructors. As the country passed into deeper and stronger excitement over the prospect of secession and its consequences, he was among the first to catch the military spirit and to take an active part in the formation of a little company among the students. It was not his disposition to be excited merely because others were. Certain qualities of mind led him to look beneath the surface for the causes of national commotion. He read carefully the utterances of leaders, North and South, and to some extent traced back their views and animating spirit to historical sources.

In the year of '63 he found to his joy that he had attained such physical proportions as would secure his acceptance in a cavalry regiment forming in his vicinity. His uncle, who was also guardian, for reasons already known, made slight opposition, and he at once donned the blue with its bluff trimmings. In camp and field he quickly learned the routine of duty, and then his daring, active temperament led him gradually into the scouting service. Now, although so young, he was a veteran in experience, frank to friends, but secretive and ready to deceive the very elect among his enemies. Few could take more risks than he, yet he had not a particle of Mad Whately's recklessness. Courage, but rarely impulse, controlled his action. As we have seen, he could instantly stay his hand the second a deadly enemy, seeking his life in personal encounter, was disarmed.

The prospect of talking with such a host as Mr. Baron pleased him immensely. He scarcely knew to whom he was indebted for the courtesy, but rightly surmised that it was Mrs. Whately, since she, with good reason, felt under obligations to him. Even more than an adventurous scouting expedition he relished a situation full of humor, and such, his presence at Mr. Baron's supper-table promised to be. He knew his entertainment would be gall and wormwood to the old Bourbon and his wife, and that the courtesy had been wrung from them by his own forbearance. It might be his only opportunity to see Miss Lou and suggest the liberty he had brought to her as well as to the slaves.

Mrs. Whately met him on the veranda and said politely, "Lieutenant Scoville, you have proved yourself to be a generous and forbearing enemy. If you feel that you can meet frank enemies who wish to return courtesy with courtesy, we shall be glad to have you take supper with us."

"Yes," added Mr. Baron, "my sister has convinced me, somewhat against my will, I must in honesty admit, that such hospitality as we can offer under the circumstances is your due."

"I appreciate the circumstances, Mr. Baron," was the grave reply, "and honor the Southern trait which is so strong that even I can receive the benefit of it. Your courtesy, madam, will put me at ease."

Miss Lou, thinking it possible that she might see the Northern officer again, had taken her own way of convincing him that he was still within the bounds of civilization, for she made a toilet more careful than the one with which she had deigned to grace the appointed day of her wedding. She could scarcely believe her eyes when, entering the supper room a little late, she saw Scoville already seated at the table. He instantly rose and made her a ceremonious bow, thus again indicating that their past relations should be completely ignored in the presence of others. She therefore gravely returned his salutation and took her place without a word, but her high color did not suggest indifference to the situation. Mr. Baron went through the formal "grace" as usual and then said, "Ahem! you will admit, sir, that it is a little embarrassing to know just how to entertain one with whom we have some slight difference of opinion."

"Perhaps such embarrassment will be removed if we all speak our minds freely," replied Scoville, pleasantly. "Pardon the suggestion, but the occasion appears to me favorable to a frank and interesting exchange of views. If my way of thinking were wholly in accord with yours my words could be little better than echoes. I should be glad to feel that my presence was no restraint whatever."

"I'm inclined to think you are right, sir," added Mrs. Whately. "It would be mere affectation on our part to disguise our thoughts and feelings. With neighbors, and even with friends, we are often compelled to do this, but I scarcely see why we should do so with an open enemy."

"And such I trust you will find me, madam, an OPEN enemy in the better sense of the adjective. As far as I can, I will answer questions if you wish to ask any. I will tell you honestly all the harm I meditate and outline clearly the extent of my hostility, if you will do the same," and he smiled so genially that she half smiled also as she answered:

"To hear you, sir, one would scarcely imagine you to be an enemy at all. But then we know better."

"Yes, sir, pardon me, we do," said Mr. Baron, a little stiffly. "For one, I would like your honest statement of just what harm you and your command meditate. I am one who would rather face and prepare for whatever I shall be compelled to meet."

"I think, sir, you have already met and faced the direst event of the evening—my presence at your hospitable board. Even this hardship is due to your courtesy, not to my compulsion."

Miss Lou bowed low over her plate at this speech.

"But how about the long hours of the night, sir? Have you such control over your men—"

"Yes, sir!" interrupted Scoville with dignity. "The men I have with me are soldiers, not camp-followers. They would no more harm you or anything you possess, without orders, than I would."

"Without orders—a clause of large latitude. As far as words go you have already robbed me of the greater part of my possessions. You have told my slaves that they are free."

"Not upon my own responsibility, sir, although with hearty goodwill. In my humble station I am far more often called upon to obey orders than to give them. You are aware of President Lincoln's proclamation?"

"Yes, sir, and of the Pope's bull against the comet."

Scoville laughed so genially as partially to disarm his reply of its sting. "In this instance, sir, our armies are rather gaining on the comet."

"But what can you and your armies hope to accomplish?" Mrs. Whately asked. "If you should destroy every Southern man, the women would remain unsubdued."

"Now, madam, you have me at disadvantage. I do not know what we would or could do if confronted only by implacable Southern women."

"Do not imagine that I am jesting. I cannot tell you how strange it seems that a man of your appearance and evident character should be among our cruel enemies."

"And yet, Mrs. Whately, you cannot dispute the fact. Pardon me for saying it, but I think that is just where the South is in such serious error. It shuts its eyes to so many simple facts—a course which experience proves is never wise. I may declare, and even believe, that there is no solid wall before me, yet if I go headlong against it, I am bruised all the same. Positive beliefs do not create truths. I fancy that a few hours since you were absolutely sure that this courtesy of which I am the grateful recipient could not be, yet you were mistaken."

"Has not the sad experience of many others inspired our fears? Neither has the end come with us yet. You said that the main Northern force would come this way tomorrow. We do not fear you and those whom you control, but how about those who are to come?"

"I can speak only for the class to which I belong—the genuine soldiers who are animated by as single and unfaltering a spirit as the best in your armies. If a Confederate column were going through the North you could not answer for the conduct of every lawless, depraved man in such a force. Still, I admit with you that war is essentially cruel, and that the aim ever must be to inflict as much injury as possible on one's adversaries."

"But how can you take part in such a war?" Mrs. Whately asked. "All we asked was to be let alone."

"Yes, sir," added Mr. Baron, "how can you justify these ruthless invasions, this breaking up of our domestic institutions, this despoiling of our property and rights by force?" and there was a tremor of suppressed excitement in his voice.

Scoville glanced at Miss Lou to see how far she sympathized with her kindred. He observed that her face was somewhat stern in its expression, yet full of intelligent interest. It was not the index of mere prejudice and hate. "Yes," he thought, "she is capable of giving me a fair hearing; the others are not. Mr. Baron," he said, "your views are natural, perhaps, if not just. I know it is asking much of human nature when you are suffering and must suffer so much, to form what will become the historical judgment on the questions at issue. The law under which the North is fighting is the supreme one—that of self-preservation. Even if we had let you alone—permitted you to separate and become independent without a blow, war would have come soon. You would not and could not have let us alone. Consider but one point: your slaves would merely have to pass the long boundary line stretching nearly across the continent, in order to be on free soil. You could compel their return only by conquering and almost annihilating the North. You will say that we should think as you do on the subject, and I must answer that it is every man and woman's right to think according to individual conscience, according to the light within. Deny this right, and you put no bounds to human slavery. Pardon me, but looking in your eyes and those of these ladies, I can see that I should become a slave instantly if you had your way. Unconsciously and inevitably you would make me one, for it is your strongest impulse to make me agree with you, to see things exactly as you do. The fact that you sincerely believe you are right would make no difference if I just as sincerely believed you were wrong. If I could not think and act for myself I should be a slave. You might say, 'We KNOW we are right, that what we believe has the Divine sanction.' That is what the tormentors of the Inquisition said and believed; that is what my Puritan and persecuting forefathers said and believed; what does history say now? The world is growing wise enough to understand that God has no slaves. He endows men and women with a conscience. The supreme obligation is to be true to this. When any one who has passed the bounds of childhood says to us, 'I don't think this is right,' we take an awful responsibility, we probably are guilty of usurpation, if we substitute our will for his. In our sincerity we may argue, reason and entreat, but in the presence of another's conscience unconvinced and utterly opposed to us, where is human slavery to end if one man, or a vast number of men, have the power to say, 'You shall'?"

Scoville had kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Baron, and saw that he was almost writhing under the expression of views so repugnant to him—views which proved his whole scheme of life and action to be wrong. Now the young man turned his glance suddenly on Miss Lou, and in her high color, parted lips and kindled eyes, saw abundant proof that she, as he had wished, was taking to herself the deep personal application of his words. Her guardians and Mrs. Whately observed this truth also, and now bitterly regretted that they had invited the Union officer. It seemed to them a sort of malign fate that he had been led, unconsciously as they supposed, to pronounce in the presence of the girl such vigorous condemnation of their action. Had they not that very day sought to override the will, the conscience, the whole shrinking, protesting womanhood of the one who had listened so eagerly as the wrong meditated against her was explained? Scoville had not left them even the excuse that they believed they were right, having shown the girl that so many who believed this were wrong. Miss Lou's expression made at least one thing clear—she was emancipated and had taken her destiny into her own hands.

Mrs. Whately felt that she must turn the tables at once, and so remarked, "It seems to me that the whole force of your argument tells against the North. You are bent upon conquering the South and making it think as you do."

"Oh, no. Here the law of self-preservation comes in. If the South can secede, so can the East and the West. New York City can secede from the State. We should have no country. There could be no national life. Would England accept the doctrine of secession, and permit any part of her dominions to set up for themselves when they chose? I know you are about to say that is just what our fathers did. Yes, but old mother England did not say, 'Go, my children, God bless you!' Nor would she say it now to any other region over which floats her flag. Of course, if you whip us, we shall have to submit, just as England did. What government has helplessly sucked its thumbs when certain portions of the territory over which it had jurisdiction defied its power? We are called Goths and Vandals, but that is absurd. We are not seeking to conquer the South in any such old-world ways. We are fighting that the old flag may be as supreme here as in New England. The moment this is true you will be as free as are the people of New England. The same constitution and laws will govern all."

"And can you imagine for a moment, sir," cried Mr. Baron, "that we will submit to a government that would be acceptable to New England?" "Yes, sir; and years hence, when the South has become as loyal as New England is now, if that abode of the Yankees should seek independence of the rest of the country she would be brought back under the flag. I would fight New England as readily as I do the South, if she sought to break up the Union. I would fight her if every man, woman and child within her borders believed themselves right."

Now he saw Miss Lou looking perplexed. Her quick mind detected the spirit of coercion, of substituting wills, against which he had been inveighing and from which she had suffered. Mrs. Whately was quick to see the apparent weakness in his argument, for she said, "Consistency is a jewel which I suppose is little cared for by those so ready to appeal to force. With one breath you say we must not coerce the wills of others, and now you say you would, even though you did violence to universal and sacred beliefs."

"I say only that the nation MUST do this as must the individual. Some one might say to me, 'I honestly think I should take off your right arm.' I would not permit it if I could help it. No more can a nation submit passively to dismemberment. The South did not expect that this nation would do so. It promptly prepared for war. If the North had said, 'We can do nothing, there's a blank, write out your terms and we'll sign,' we would have been more thoroughly despised than we were, if that were possible. There are two kinds of coercion. For instance, I do not say to you, Mrs. Whately, representing the South, that you must think and feel as I do and take just such steps as I dictate; but that there are things which you must refrain from doing, because in their performance, no matter how sincere you were, you would inflict great and far-reaching wrong on others. There could be no government without restriction. We would soon have anarchy if any part of a nation should and could withdraw when it chose and how it pleased."

"Your doctrine, sir, would banish freedom from the world. All peoples would have to submit to the central tyranny called government, even though such government had become hateful."

"This doctrine, which all governments act upon," replied Scoville pleasantly, "has not banished freedom from the world. In this country, where every man has a voice, the government will be just about as good as the majority determine it shall be."

"Well, sir, to sum up the whole matter," said Mr. Baron coldly, "two things are clear: First, the South is determined to be free; second, if we fail we can be held only under the heel of your Northern majority as Poland is trodden upon."

Scoville saw that the discussion had gone far enough for his purposes, and he said with a good-natured laugh, "I'm neither a prophet nor his son, but I think it is a very hopeful sign that we could have this frank interchange of views and belief. I see how perfectly sincere you are, and if I had been brought up here no doubt I should think and act as you do. As it is, I am only a very humble representative of the Government which is trying to preserve its own existence—a Government which the South helped to form as truly as the North. If I should come directly to your side, contrary to belief and conscience, you would be the first to despise me. I suppose we will all agree that we should obey the supreme dictates of conscience?"

"No, sir," burst out Mr. Baron, "I cannot agree to anything of the kind. There are multitudes who must be guided and controlled by those who are wiser, older and more experienced. Why, sir, you would have the very nursery children in flat rebellion."

"Indeed, Mr. Baron, I have not said one word against the authority of parents and guardians."

"Ah! I am glad you draw the line somewhere. Half the misery in the world results from young people's thinking themselves wiser than their natural advisers. If they can merely say their consciences are against what their elders know is right and best, we have anarchy in the fountainhead of society—the family," and he glared for a moment at his niece.

"What you say seems very true, Mr. Baron. I should be glad to know where YOU draw the line? Independent action must begin at some period."

While Mr. Baron hesitated over this rather embarrassing question Miss Lou startled all her kindred by saying, "I did not intend to take any part in this conversation, but a glance from my uncle makes his last remark personal to me. I am at least old enough to ask one or two questions. Do you think it right, Lieutenant Scoville, that a woman should never have any independent life of her own?"

"Why, Miss Baron, what a question! Within the received limits of good taste a woman has as much right to independent action as a man."

"Well, then, how can she ever have any independence if she is treated as a child up to one day of her life, and the next day is expected to promise she will obey a man as long as he lives?"

The angry spots in Mrs. Baron's cheeks had been burning deeper and deeper, and now she spoke promptly and freezingly, "Mr. Scoville, I absolve you from answering one who is proving herself to be neither a child nor a refined woman. I did not expect this additional humiliation. If it had not occurred I would have taken no part in the conversation. Mr. Baron, I think we have granted even more than the most quixotic idea of courtesy could demand."

"'Granted? demand?' surely there is some mistake, madam," said Scoville with dignity, as he rose instantly from the table. "I have asked nothing whatever except that you should dismiss your fears as far as I and my men are concerned."

Mrs. Whately was provoked equally at herself and all the others. She now deeply regretted that she had not left the Union officer to obtain his supper where and how he could, but felt that she must smooth matters over as far as possible. "Lieutenant Scoville," she said hurriedly, "you must make allowances for people in the deepest stress of trouble. We did intend all the courtesy which our first remarks defined. Of course you cannot know our circumstances, and when words are spoken which cut to the quick it is hard to give no sign. Perhaps our hearts are too sore and our differences too radical—" and she hesitated.

"I understand you, madam," said Scoville, bowing. "I can only repeat my assurances of your safety and express my regret—"

"Oh, shame!" cried Miss Lou, whose anger and indignation now passed all bounds. "We are NOT in the deepest stress of trouble, and you, Mrs. Whately, are the last one to say it. I saw this gentleman's sabre poised at your son's throat long enough to have killed him twice over, and he did not do it, even in the excitement of defending his own life. After Mrs. Baron's words he again assures us of safety. What did you all predict would happen immediately when Northern soldiers came? Whether I am refined or not, I am at least grateful. Lieutenant, please come with me. I will try to prove that I appreciate your courtesy and forbearance," and she led the way from the room.

He bowed ceremoniously to Mr. Baron and the ladies, then followed the girl, leaving them, almost paralyzed by their conflicting emotions.