Then he—the “high”—wrote a few lines at the end of that paper, placed it in another envelope, directed it, and put it in the hands of the messenger, saying: “Take this to its address.” When the messenger had bowed low and left the room, the great man turned to Elfie. “You have rendered good service, and I thank you for your zeal. You can withdraw.” CHAPTER XXIII. ERMINIE’S GREAT SORROW. When Albert Goldsborough was turned out of the library by his indignant little ladylove, he did not go out of the house as she had commanded him to do. He passed cavalierly by the staring and stupefied servant who had been ordered to attend him, and saying that he should go to Colonel Eastworth’s rooms and wait for his return, ascended the stairs. Catharine slipped after him, opened Colonel Eastworth’s door, and showed the visitor in. And then, thinking that she had literally obeyed orders in “attending” the gentleman, she returned to her duties in the lower regions of the house. Meanwhile, Albert Goldsborough threw himself into a chair before the fire to wait for Colonel Eastworth. Three long hours he had to wait. The time hung heavily on his hands. He read a little from the newspapers that lay scattered over the table; he walked restlessly, looking into all the cupboards and out of the windows; then he sat down at the round table to improve the time by writing letters that lay heavily on his conscience. One letter he wrote to his mother, another to some coconspirator in Virginia, and a third he wrote to Elfie—this last full of complaining love and tender reproaches. He was still engaged in writing this letter, which threatened to be as interminable as love letters usually are, when the door was suddenly flung open, and Colonel Eastworth strode into the room. “You here?” he exclaimed, on seeing his visitor. “Yes, colonel,” said Albert, rising and hastily rolling up his love letter and thrusting it into his pocket. “Have you brought anything?” he inquired, coming up to the table, and speaking in a low voice. “These, colonel,” replied the young man, delivering his dispatches. Colonel Eastworth dropped into his chair, tore open the packet and read the papers, commenting on their contents as he went on. “So,” he murmured, “L. will do nothing until the Legislature has acted. E. also holds back until the ordinance of secession is formally passed. J. is waiting for more light, and making the affair a matter of prayer. But M., S. and W. are ready to take the field now, each with a following of more than a thousand men! Good! I predict that when Washington is ours, those faint-hearted, purblind fellows who cannot make up their minds, but must needs wait for ‘more light,’ will be braced up a little, and be able to see their duty, or their interest, which, with such laggards, means the same thing.”