"It\'s positively uncanny——"

Betty Winter paused on the top step of the Capitol and gazed over the great silent crowd with a shiver.

"The silence—yes," Ned Vaughan answered slowly. "I wondered if you had felt it, too."

"It\'s more like a funeral than an Inauguration."

The young reporter smiled:

"If you believe General Scott there may be several funerals in Washington before the day\'s work is done."

"And you don\'t believe him?" the girl asked seriously.

"Nonsense! All this feverish preparation for violence——"

Betty laughed:

"I\'m afraid you\'re not a good judge of the needs of the incoming administration. As an avowed Secessionist—you\'re hardly in their confidence."

"Thank God, I\'m not."

"What are those horses doing over there by the trees?"

"Masked battery of artillery."

"Don\'t be silly!"

"It\'s true. Old Scott\'s going to save the Capital on Inauguration Day any how! The Avenue\'s lined with soldiers—sharpshooters posted in the windows along the whole route of the Inaugural procession, a company of troops in each end of the Capitol. He has built a wooden tunnel from the street into the north end of the building and that\'s lined with guards. A squad of fifty soldiers are under the platform where we\'re going to sit——"

"No!"

"Look through the cracks and see for yourself!" Vaughan cried with scorn.

The sparkling brown eyes were focused on the board platform.

"I do see them moving," she said slowly, as a look of deep seriousness swept the fair young face. "Perhaps General Scott\'s right after all. Father says we\'re walking on a volcano——"

"But not that kind of a volcano, Miss Betty," Vaughan interrupted. "Senator Winter\'s an Abolitionist. He hates the South with every breath he breathes."

Betty nodded:

"And prays God night and morning to give him greater strength with which to hate it harder—yes——"

"But you\'re not so blind?"

"There must be a little fire where there\'s so much smoke. A crazy fool might try to kill the new President."

Ned Vaughan\'s slender figure stiffened:

"The South won\'t fight that way. If they begin war it will be the most solemn act of life. It will be for God and country, and what they believe to be right. The Southern people are not assassins. When they take Washington it will be with the bayonet."

"And yet your brother had a taste of Southern feeling here the night of the election when a mob broke in and smashed the office of the Republican."

"A gang of hoodlums," he protested. "Anything may happen on election night to an opposition newspaper. The Southern men who formed that mob will never give this administration trouble——"

"I\'m so anxious to meet your brother," Betty interrupted. "Why doesn\'t he come?"

"He\'s in the Senate Chamber for the ceremonies. He\'ll join us before the procession gets here."

"He\'s as handsome as everybody says?" she asked na?vely.

"I\'ll admit he\'s a good-looking fellow if he is my brother."

"And vain?"

"As a peacock——"

"Conceited?"

"Very."

"And a woman hater!"

"Far from it—he\'s easy. He may not think so, but between us he\'s an easy mark. I\'ve always been afraid he\'ll make a fool of himself and marry without the consent of his younger brother. He\'s a great care to me."

The brown eyes twinkled:

"You love him very much?"

Ned Vaughan nodded his dark head slowly:

"Yes. We\'ve quarrelled every day since the election."

"Over politics?"

"What else?"

"Love, perhaps."

The dark eyes met hers.

"No, he hasn\'t seen you yet——"

Betty\'s laugh was genial and contagious.

He had meant to be serious and hoped that she would give him the opening he\'d been sparring for. But she refused the challenge with such amusement he was piqued.

"You\'re from Missouri, but you\'re a true Southerner, Mr. Vaughan."

"And you\'re a heartless Puritan," he answered with a frown.

She shook her golden brown curls:

"No—no—no! My name\'s an accident. My father was born in Maine on the Canada line. But my mother was French. I\'m her daughter. I love sunlight and flowers, music and foolishness—and dream of troubadours who sing under my window. I hate long faces and gloom. But my father has ambition. I love him, and so I endure things."

Ned Vaughan looked at her timidly. For the life of him he couldn\'t make her out. Was she laughing at him? He half suspected it, and yet there was something sweet and appealing in the way she gazed into his eyes. He gave it up and changed the subject.

He had promised to bring John to-day and introduce him. He had been prattling like a fool about this older brother. He wished to God now something would keep him. The pangs of jealousy had already began to gnaw at the thought of her hand resting in his.

From the way Betty Winter had laughed she was quite capable of flying two strings to her bow. And with all the keener interest because they happened to be brothers. Why had she asked him so pointedly about John? He had excited her curiosity, of course, by his silly brother—hero-worship. He had told her of his brilliant career in New York under Horace Greeley on the Tribune—of Greeley\'s personal interest, and the flattering letter he had written to Colonel Forney, which had made him the city editor of the New Party organ in Washington—of his cool heroism the night the mob had attacked the Republican office—and last he had hinted of an affair over a woman in New York that had led to a challenge and a bloodless duel—bloodless because his opponent failed to appear. It was his own fault, of course, if Betty was keeping him at arm\'s length to-day. No girl could fail to be interested in such a man—no matter who her father might be—Puritan or Cavalier.

His arm trembled in spite of his effort at self-control as he led her down the stately steps of the eastern fa?ade toward the Inaugural platform. He paused on the edge of the boards and pointed to the huge bronze figure of the statue of Liberty which had been cast to crown the dome of the Capitol. It lay prostrate in the mud and the crowds were climbing over it.

"I wonder if Miss Liberty will ever be lifted to her place on high?" he said musingly.

"If they do finish the dome," Betty replied, "and crown it with that bronze, my father should sue for damages. One of his most eloquent figures of speech will be ruined. That prostrate work of art lying in the mud has given thousands of votes to the Republicans. I\'ve caught myself crying over his eloquence at times myself."

Ned Vaughan smiled:

"A queer superstition has grown up in Washington that the dome of the Capitol will never be completed——"

"Do you believe it?"

"No. It will be finished. But I\'m not sure whether Abraham Lincoln or Jefferson Davis will preside on that occasion."

"And I haven\'t the slightest doubt on that point," Betty said with quick emphasis.

"I thought you were not a student of politics?" he dryly observed.

"I\'m not. It\'s just a feeling. Women know things by intuition."

The young man glanced upward at the huge crane which swung from the unfinished structure of the dome.

"Anyhow, Miss Betty," he said smilingly, "your Black Republican President has a beautiful day for the Inaugural."

"We\'ll hope it\'s a sign for the future—shall we?"

"I hope so," was the serious answer. "God knows there haven\'t been many happy signs lately. It was dark and threatening at dawn this morning and a few drops of rain fell up to eight o\'clock."

"You were up at dawn?" the girl asked in surprise.

"Yes. The Senate has been in session all night over the new amendment to the Constitution guaranteeing to the South security in the possession of their slaves."

"And they passed it?"

"Yes——"

"Over my father\'s prostrate form?"

"Yes—an administrative measure, too. I\'ve an idea from the \'moderation\' of your father\'s remarks that there\'ll be some fun between the White House and the Senate Chamber during the next four years. For my part I share his scorn for such eleventh hour repentance. It\'s too late. The mischief has been done. Secession is a fact and we\'ve got to face it."

"But we haven\'t heard from the new President yet," Betty ventured.

"No. That\'s why this crowd\'s so still. For the first time since the foundation of the government, the thousands banked in front of this platform really wish to hear what a President-elect has to say."

"Isn\'t that a tremendous tribute to the man?"

"Possibly so—possibly not. He has been silent since his election. Not a word has fallen from his lips to indicate his policy. He has more real power from the moment he takes the oath of office than any crowned head of Europe. From his lips to-day will fall the word that means peace or war. That\'s why this crowd\'s so still."

"It\'s weird," Betty whispered. "You can feel their very hearts beat. Do you suppose the new President realizes the meaning of such a moment?"

"I don\'t think this one will. I interviewed Stanton, the retiring Attorney General of Buchanan\'s Cabinet, yesterday. He knows Lincoln personally—was with him in a lawsuit once before the United States Court. Stanton says he\'s a coward and a fool and the ugliest white man who ever appeared on this planet. He has already christened him \'The Original Gorilla,\' or \'The Illinois Ape\'——"

"I wonder," Betty broke in with petulance, "if such a man could be elected President? I\'m morbidly curious to see him. My father, as an Abolitionist, had to vote for him and he must support his administration as a Republican Senator. But his favorite name for the new Chief Magistrate is, \'The Illinois Slave Hound.\' I\'ve a growing feeling that his enemies have overdone their work. I\'m going to judge him fairly."

Vaughan\'s lips slightly curved.

"They say he\'s a good stump speaker—a little shy on grammar, perhaps, but good on jokes—of the coarser kind. He ought to get one or two good guffaws even out of this sober crowd to-day."

"You think he\'ll stoop to coarse jokes?"

"Of course——"

"Is that your brother?" Betty asked with a quick intake of breath, lifting her head toward a stalwart figure rapidly coming down the wide marble steps.

Ned Vaughan looked up with a frown:

"How did you recognize him?"

"By his resemblance to you, of course."

"Thanks."

"You\'re as much alike as two black-eyed peas—except that you\'re more slender and boyish."

"And not quite so good-looking?"

A low mischievous laugh was her answer as John lifted his hat and stood smiling before them.

"Miss Winter, this is my brother, whose praises I\'ve long been chanting. I\'ve a little work to do in the crowd—I\'ll be back in a few minutes."

There was just a touch of irony in the smile with which the younger man spoke as he hurried away, but the girl was too much absorbed in the striking picture John Vaughan made to notice. The sparkling brown eyes took him in from head to foot in a quick comprehending flash. The fame of his personal appearance was more than justified. He was the most strikingly good-looking man she had ever seen, and to her surprise there was not the slightest trace of self-consciousness or conceit about him. His high intellectual forehead, thick black hair inclined to curl at the ends and straight heavy eyebrows suggested at once a man of brains and power. He looked older than he was—at least thirty, though he had just turned twenty-six. The square strong jaw and large chin were eloquent of reserve force. Two rows of white, perfect teeth smiled behind the black drooping moustache and invited friendship. The one disquieting feature about him was the look from the depths of his dark brown eyes—so dark they were black in shadow. He had been a dreamer when very young and followed Charles A. Dana to Brook Farm for a brief stay.

Before he had spoken a dozen words the girl felt the charm of his singular and powerful personality.

"I needn\'t say that I\'m glad to see you, Miss Winter," he began, with a friendly smile. "Ned has told me so much about you the past month I\'d made up my mind to join the Abolitionists, and apply for a secretaryship to the Senator if I couldn\'t manage it any other way."

"And you\'ll be content to resume a normal life after to-day?"

She looked into his eyes with mischievous challenge. She had recovered her poise.

He laughed, and a shadow suddenly swept his face:

"I wonder, Miss Winter, if any of us will live a normal life after to-day?"

"You\'ve seen the Rail-splitter, our new President?"

"No, I didn\'t wait in the Senate Chamber. I came out here to make sure of my seat beside you——"

"To hear every word of the Inaugural, of course," Betty broke in.

"Yes, of course——" he paused and the faintest suggestion of a smile flickered about the corners of his eyes. "Ned told me you had three good seats. I am anxious to hear what he says—but more anxious to see him when he says it. I can read his Inaugural, but I want to see the soul of the man behind its conventional phrases——"

"He\'ll use conventional phrases?"

"Certainly. They all do. But no man ever came to the Presidential chair with as little confidence back of him. The Abolitionists have already begun to denounce him before he has taken the oath of office. The rank and file of the party that elected him are not Abolitionists and never for a moment believed that the Southern people were in earnest when they threatened Secession during the campaign. We thought it bluff. To say that the whole North and West is panic-stricken is the simple truth.

"Horace Greeley and the Tribune are for Secession.

"\'Let our erring sisters go!\' the editor tells the millions who hang on his words as the oracle of heaven.

"The North has been talking Secession for thirty years, and now that the South is doing what they\'ve been threatening, we wake up and try to persuade ourselves that no such right exists in a sovereign state. Yet we all know that Great Britain surrendered to the thirteen colonies as sovereign states and named each one of them in her articles of surrender and our treaty of peace. We know that there never would have been a Constitution or a union if the men who drew it and created the union had dared to question the right of either of these sovereign states to withdraw when they wished. They didn\'t dare to raise the question. They left it for their children to settle. Now we\'re facing it with a vengeance.

"Our fathers only dreamed a union. They never lived to see it. This country has always been an aggregation of jangling, discordant, antagonistic sections. How is this man who comes into power to-day, this humble rail-splitter, this County Court advocate, to achieve what our greatest statesmen have tried for nearly a hundred years and failed to do? Seward, the man he has called to be Secretary of State, has been here for two months, juggling with his enemies. He\'s a Secessionist at heart and expects the union to be divided——"

"Surely," Betty interrupted, "you can\'t believe that."

"It\'s true. We don\'t dare say this in our paper, but we know it. So sure is Seward of the collapse of the Lincoln administration that he withdrew his acceptance of the post of Secretary of State, only day before yesterday. It\'s uncertain at this hour whether he\'ll be in the cabinet——"

"Why?" Betty asked in breathless surprise.

The young editor was silent a moment and spoke in low tones:

"You can keep a secret?"

"State secrets—easily."

"Mr. Seward expects to be called to a position of greater power than President——"

"You mean?"

"The Dictatorship. That\'s the talk in the inner circles. Nobody in the North expects war or wants war——"

"Except my father," Betty laughed.

"The Abolitionists don\'t count. If we have war there are not enough of them to form a corporal\'s guard—to say nothing of an army. The North is hopelessly divided and confused. If the South unites—if North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas, Missouri and Maryland join the Confederacy under Davis, the union is lost. What\'s going to hinder them from uniting? They are all Slave States. They believe the new President is a Black Abolitionist Republican. He isn\'t, of course, but they believe it. How can he reassure them? The States that have already plunged into Secession have hauled the flag down from every fort and arsenal except Sumter and Pickens. The new President can only retake these forts by force. The first shot fired will sweep every Slave State out of the union and arraign the millions of Democratic voters in the North solidly against the Government. God pity the man who takes the oath to-day to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution!"

When John Vaughan\'s voice died away at last into a passionate whisper, Betty stood looking at him in a spell. She recovered herself with a start and a smile.

"You\'ve mistaken your calling, Mr. Vaughan," she said with emotion.

"Why do you say that?"

"You\'re a statesman—not an editor—you should be in the Cabinet."

"Much obliged, Miss Betty—but I\'m not in this one, thank you. Besides, you\'re mistaken. I\'m only an intelligent observer and reporter of events. I\'ve never had the will to do creative things."

"Why?"

"The responsibility is too great. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Only God Almighty can save this Nation to-day. It\'s too much to expect of one man."

"Yet God must use man, mustn\'t He?"

"Yes. That\'s why my soul goes out in sympathy to the lonely figure who steps out of obscurity and poverty to-day to do this impossible thing. No such responsibility was ever before laid on the shoulders of one man. In all the history of the world he has no precedent, no guide——"

Ned interrupted the flow of John\'s impassioned speech by suddenly appearing with uplifted hand.

"Never such a crowd as this!"

"Why, they say it\'s smaller than usual!" Betty exclaimed.

"I don\'t mean size," Ned went on rapidly. "It\'s their temper that\'s remarkable. An Inauguration crowd should support the administration. The Lord help the Rail-splitter if that sullen dumb mob are his constituents! Half of them are downright hostile——"

"Washington\'s a Southern town," John remarked.

"They are not Washington folks—not one in a hundred. And the only honest backers old Abe seems to have are about a thousand serious young fellows from the West, whom General Scott has armed as a special guard to circle the crowd."

He paused and pointed to a group of a dozen Westerners standing beside a bush in the outer rim of the throng.

"There\'s a bunch of them—and there\'s one stationed every ten yards. The artillery in position, the infantry in line, the sharpshooters masked in windows, the guard under the platform with muskets cocked, and a thousand volunteers to threaten the crowd from without, I think the new President should get a respectful hearing! The procession is coming up the Avenue now with a guard of sappers and miners packed so closely around the open carriage you can\'t even see the top of old Abe\'s head——"

"Let\'s get our seats!" Betty cried.

They had scarcely taken them when a ripple of excitement swept the crowd as every head was turned toward the aisle that led down the centre of the platform.

"Oh, it\'s Mrs. Lincoln and the children and her sisters!" Betty exclaimed. "What perfect taste in her dress! She knows how to wear it, too. What a typical, plump, self-poised Southern matron she looks. And, oh, those darling little boys—aren\'t they dears! She\'s a Kentuckian, too—the irony of Fate! A Southerner with a Southern wife entering the White House and eight great Southern States seceding from the union because of it. It\'s a funny world, isn\'t it?"

"The South hardly claims Mr. Lincoln as a Southerner," Ned remark............