Bob went over to Louise, who was stirring uneasily in her sleep, and kissed her gently, and went out into the hall. At the door he turned to look once more at his mother. “Good-night, mother!” he said, “and good dreams. I think we shall all be happier soon.” He went to his room, removed his working-clothes, put on his best suit, got together a few things and put them into a little hand-bag that had once belonged to his South Carolinian grandfather, put out his light, and threw himself down on the bed for a brief sleep. But he slept only fitfully, looking often at his watch by the light of the moon that shone in at his window; and at last, at four o’clock, he rose for the last time, took his satchel and shoes in his hands and crept softly downstairs. He went through by the kitchen, stopping there to bathe his face and hands, then, sliding back the bolt, he opened the door and stepped out on to the porch. The moon was shining brightly, and the night was very still. There were as yet no signs of morning in the east, nor any noise of stirring men or beasts. He bethought himself of food, but he feared lest, by moving around in the darkness of the pantry to seek it, he would arouse some of the inmates of the house. So he closed the door behind him, sat down on the porch-steps and put on his shoes, and then, satchel in hand, he started down the garden pathway to the kitchen gate. The windows of the sleeping-room occupied by Louise opened on this side of the house, but there was no possibility of his being seen by her. Once in the road, he turned his face toward Mount Hermon. When he reached the front gate, he stopped and looked up the path toward the house. From his mother’s window shone the faint light of her night-lamp. There were no other signs of life about the premises. Then, suddenly, there in the shadow of the trees, with his boyhood home in front of him, and in the dark west toward which his footsteps were pointing a fate which no man could fathom, a feeling of profound depression fell upon him, a sense of unutterable loneliness and desolation. For the time being all of his courage, all of his determination, all of his invincible patriotism, deserted him and left him weak and homesick and miserable. In another moment he would have turned back and sought the safety and protection which his dear home offered him; but, even as he hesitated, out of the darkness of the east there grew slowly and solemnly clear to his mental vision the tall, gaunt form, the sadly resolute and rugged face of Abraham Lincoln. And, with the vision, there came back into his mind, one by one and then all together, the overpowering reasons that had led him into taking this momentous step. So his judgment returned, his thought grew clear, courage came back to him, and strength, and deep determination, and he turned his face once more toward Mount Hermon, and plunged ahead into the shadows. CHAPTER VII OFF TO THE WAR