And the old woman let the bird in and closed the window; and then—her bronzed face wet with tears—she conducted Clara to a back door of the house, from which the fugitive could issue, without being observed, into an obscure carriage-way. CHAPTER XX. ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. “Hail, year of God’s farming! Hail, summer of an emancipated continent, which shall lay up in storehouse and barn the great truths that were worth the costly dressing of a people’s blood!”—_Rev. John Weiss._ In one of the rooms of the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans a man sat meditating. The windows looked out on a street where soldiers were going through their drill amid occasional shouts from by-standers. As the noise grew louder, the man rose and went to a window. He was hardly above the middle stature, slim and compact, but as lithe as if jointed like an eel. His hair was slightly streaked with gray. His features, though not full, spoke health, vigor, and pure habits of life; while his white, well-preserved teeth, neatly trimmed beard, and well-cut, well-adjusted clothes showed that, as he left his youth behind him, his attention to his personal appearance did not decrease. Fourteen years had made but little change in Vance. It had not tamed the fire of his eyes nor slackened the alertness of his tread. As he caught sight of the “stars and bars” waving in the spring sunlight, an expression of scorn was emitted in his frown, and he exclaimed: “Detested rag! I shall yet live to trample you in the dirt on that very spot where you now flaunt so bravely. Shout on, poor fools! Continue, ye unreasoning cattle, to crop the flowery food, and lick the hand just raised to shed your blood. And you, too, leaders of the rank and file, led, in your turn, by South Carolina fire-eaters, go on and overtake that fate denounced by the prophet on evil-doers. Hug the strong delusion and believe the lie! Declare, with the smatterers of the Richmond press, that Christian civilization is a mistake, and that the new Confederacy is _a God-sent missionary to the nations_ to teach them that pollution is purity, and incest a boon from heaven. The time is not far distant when you shall learn how far the Eternal Powers are the allies of human laziness, arrogance, and lust!” Suddenly the soliloquist seemed struck by the appearance of some one in the crowd; for, taking from his pocket an opera-glass, and regulating the focus, he looked through it, then muttered: “Yes, it is he! Poor maggot! What haughtiness in his look!” Just then a man on horseback, in the dress of a civilian, and followed by a slave, also mounted, rode forward nearer to where Vance sat at his window. A multitude gathered round the foremost equestrian, and called for a speech. “The Kunnle is jest frum South Kerlinay,” exclaimed a swarthy inebriate, who seemed to be spokesman for the mob. “A speech frum Kunnle Ratcliff! Hoorray!”