One evening Griffith sat by the library table reading, and Katherine was moving about the room restlessly. For several days no news had come from the front--no home news, no letters from the absent sons. The door leading to the porch was open and suddenly there stood before them a messenger with a telegram. Katherine grew weak and sick. Griffith tore the envelope open and read. She watched his face. Every vestige of blood had left it, and his head sank on his arms crossed on the table before him. The telegram was crushed in one hand. A groan escaped him, and then a sob shook his frame. "Which one is it? Which one of my boys is killed? Which--which one?" cried Katherine. She tried to loosen the hand that clasped the message, but he held it crashed, and when he lifted his head tears were streaming down his cheeks. He tried to reassure her. "It is not _that,_" he said hoarsely. "They--the boys are all right, but they have ordered me------." He relaxed his grasp, and his head sank again on his arms. She took the message and read: "Washington, D. C. "Report here immediately. "A. Lincoln." For a moment Katherine seemed stunned. She did not comprehend. Then she seemed to rise far above her normal stature. "_You shall not go!_" she said. Her eyes blazed. Her hands hung by her sides, but they were clenched until the nails sank into the flesh. The tigress in her was at last aroused. "You shall _not_ go! How dare he? With three of my boys in the army now! With us reduced to _this!_" She had never complained of the change in her style of living, but she flung out the contemptuous fire within her as she stretched out her arms to indicate the simplicity of her surroundings. "With _this_ in exchange for what we had! With every tie broken! With every luxury and comfort gone! Separated from even the negroes that loved us and begged to come with us! How _dare_ they ask for further sacrifice from us! How dare he!" Griffith's head lifted slowly. He looked at her in dismay. Was this the patient, compliant wife who had willingly given up her fortune and her home to satisfy _his_ conscience? Was this the silent, demure, self-controlled Katherine--this very tall, angry woman? She looked like a fury unchained. She took a step nearer to him. "You shall _not_ go!" she repeated, and the astonished messenger-boy fled in affright, as she suddenly threw both arms about Griffith and began to sob convulsively. Griffith held her to his breast, which heaved and choked him. It seemed to him that he could not speak. At last he whispered softly: "I must go, Katherine. It is an order from the President. I will have to go to Washington." He had not finished speaking until he felt her form begin to shrink and collapse in his grasp.