Can I serve you in any
way further?"
"Thanks! not at all. Good evening."
"Good evening, sir."
That was all. What did it mean?--to vanish without a sign! an engagement
for the evening, and not a line left in explanation or excuse! It was
not like her. There must be something wrong, some mystery. He tormented
himself with a thousand fancies and fears over what, he confessed, was
probably a mere accident; wisely determined to do so no longer,--but
did, spite of such excellent resolutions and intent.
This took place on the evening of Saturday, the 13th of April, 1861. The
events of the next few days doubtless augmented his anxiety and
unhappiness. Sunday followed,--a day filled not with a Sabbath calm, but
with the stillness felt in nature before some awful convulsion; the
silence preceding earthquake, volcano, or blasting storm; a quiet broken
from Maine to the Pacific slope when the next day shone, and men roused
themselves from the sleep of a night to the duty of a day, from the
sleep of generations, fast merging into death, at the trumpet-call to
arms,--a cry which sounded through every State and every household in
the land, which, more powerful than the old songs of Percy and Douglas,
"brought children from their play, and old men from their
chimney-corners," to emulate humanity in its strength and prime, and
contest with it the opportunity to fight and die in a deathless cause.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63