“It is my country, too. There is not a difference in our love for our native land, but in our belief in what is good for her. I believe that the war is unrighteous and will be the country’s ruin. I am hostile to nothing except the war. I am for peace at any cost. You pin your faith on your father’s beliefs, that is all; and it cannot, it shall not, separate us.” He made a step toward her, but she drew back. “No, no,” she cried. “While my father is fighting on the Canada border, so far away, perhaps at this moment lying wounded, or dead,” she whispered, “can I promise myself to one who is willing to encourage his foes to work his destruction? No, I cannot, I cannot!” The young man turned aside and leaned heavily against a gnarled old tree which overshadowed them, and again there was silence. When Robert spoke, it was very quietly. “That I would encourage a foe of yours is a thought too terrible to contemplate; that I could ever do aught to bring you one moment’s pang seems to me impossible. The war cannot last. I do not give you up, I but wait till the war is over, and then--Lettice!” He held out his hands yearningly, but she did not move. “Promise me, dearest, promise me, that when the question is settled, that you will no longer deny me my place, and meantime keep me in your heart.” “Provided you do us no wrong, provided you do nothing to bring trouble upon us, after the war--I will--consider it.” “Even that ray of hope is much. I make this concession, and you, dearest, can never know what it costs: I promise to take no active part in the measures against the carrying on of the war. I have been an earnest partisan, I acknowledge; yet I will henceforth be a neutral. God forgive me, if I am wrong; if to win your favor is more to me than the approval of my countrymen. Can you not give me a proof of a like measure of love?” “If when the war is over, you come to me with hands unstained, and with a conscience clean of having done no injury to our side, I think I may, perhaps, be ready to promise you--what you ask.” She hung her head, and the last words were in a whisper. “And you will seal the bond, beloved, you will?” He advanced and would have kissed her, but she retreated, crying:-- “No, no, the war is not over yet.” She spoke gayly, however, and held out her hand, which he pressed to his lips. But just then Lutie’s voice broke in upon them. “Miss Letty, Miss Betty say huccome yuh fo’git yuh-alls is gwine to yo Aunt Marthy’s to dinner? She say yuh bleedged ter come an’ git dressed e’ssen dey leave yuh ’thout nothin’ but cold pone.” Lutie’s giggle followed the message, and Lettice, with Robert at her side, took her way to the house. “Law, Letty,” cried Betty, meeting her in the hall, “you certainly are feather-brained these days. Here I am all ready, and you are mooning about, nobody knows where. It is high time we were off. This is to be a state dinner, remember, and Aunt Martha will never forgive us if we are late.”