“Yes, it is connected with——” He paused, and then, with a spasmodic effort, added—“the dear old flag! But enough! ‘Old things shall pass away, and all things shall become new!’ We shall raise a banner, Erminie, in the blaze of whose young glory the old stars and stripes shall pale and fade, as the stars of night at the rising of the sun!” “Oh, what do you mean? What are you about to do?” gasped Erminie, in a low voice, as she turned deadly pale. “‘Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, till you approve the deed!’” he answered, smiling and throwing off the gloom that had gathered around them. And in good time he did so; for the door opened quietly, and the old doctor, who had finished his pipe, sauntered into the room, to spend the rest of the evening with his children, as he called these two. Many more evenings did the betrothed lovers spend alone in that drawing-room. But not again did Erminie attempt to sing the “Star-Spangled Banner;” and not again did Colonel Eastworth lose his self-possession, or hint darking at the “coming events” that cast their shadows over his spirit. As the scene of that evening was not repeated, Erminie let its memory fade from her mind, and she grew tranquil and happy in the society of her lover. But Colonel Eastworth was neither happy, nor even tranquil. An honorable gentleman, a patriotic citizen, and a distinguished soldier, who had won ever-living laurels in the service of his country, and now a State’s Rights man, conscientiously plotting her ruin, his mind was torn by the struggles of what he called a “divided duty,” and likened not unaptly to the martyrdom of dismemberment by wild horses. Nor did the society of his betrothed bride tend to soothe him. He was too madly in love with the minister’s beautiful child to bear the close intimacy of her constant companionship with anything like calmness—unless he could be permitted to marry her immediately. One evening they were as usual alone in the drawing-room. She was seated at the piano, singing his favorite song. He was bending over her, turning the music, but thinking far more of her than of anything else. She was singing the refrain of that song so full of wild, sad, almost despairing aspiration: “Beloved eye! beloved star! Thou art so near, and yet—so far!” He bent lower over her, until his quick breath stirred her bright auburn ringlets. As she ceased singing, he whispered, in a voice vibrating with intense feeling: