There he stayed before the
fire, distressed beyond measure. "Just so," he said, "the South will
take it--just so."
Ann Penhallow said, "Where did you leave off, Leila? Go on, my dear, with
the book."
"I can't. You were cruel to Uncle Jim--and he was so dear and sweet."
"If you can't read, you had better go to bed." Leila broke into tears and
stumbled up the stairs with half-blinded eyes.
Ann sat long, hearing Penhallow's steps as he walked to and fro. Then she
let fall her knitting, rose, and went into the library.
"James, forgive me. I was unjust to say such things--I was--"
"Please don't," he cried, and took her in his arms. "Oh, my love," he
said, "we have darker days than this before us. If only there was between
North and South love like ours--there is not. We at least shall love on
to the end--no matter what happens."
The tearful face looked up, "And you do forgive me?" "Forgive! There
is no need for any such word in the dictionary of love." Between
half-hysterical laughter and ready tears, she gasped, "Where did you
get that prettiness?"
"Read it in a book, you goosey. Go to bed."
"No, not yet. This crime or craze will make mischief?"
"Yes, Ann, out of all proportion to the thing. The South will be in a
frenzy, and the North filled with regret and horror.
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