So, to go back to Rhoda and the new place of concealment in the cellar. Dr. Ware was much gratified to see her more lively demeanor that morning and began to hope that, with the renewal of their Underground operations and the constant call they would make upon both heart and head, she would soon forget the pain that had been benumbing her energies. She told him she was going to a meeting of the sewing circle that afternoon at which they were to consider the question of enlarging its sphere and turning it into an anti-slavery society. He thought it a good idea and encouraged her to do all she could toward that end. She went early to Mrs. Hardaker’s house, where the meeting was to be held, and proved to be the first arrival. Horace was there, not having yet returned to his office after dinner, and as she entered he greeted her with-- “Rhoda, here’s a grand thing! Just listen!” She saw that he had the New York “Tribune” in his hands, and as he began to read her attention was at once absorbed by the bitter and mournful eloquence of Horace Greeley’s lament over the Dred Scott decision--a bit of literature that ought to be among the classics of American journalism and studied by every aspirant for its honors. But it is buried too deep among the yellowing sheets of forgotten newspaper files to be known, in these busy days of a later generation, to any but an occasional investigator. It had its own brief day of vigorous life, when it stirred profoundly the minds and hearts of tens upon tens of thousands of earnest men and women. And then like a dead leaf it fluttered down to earth, to become a part of that debris of the centuries that makes a richer soil for the growth of human souls. With quickening pulse Rhoda listened to the stately march of the sentences, as Hardaker’s fluent, oratorical voice gave to each its full significance. As he came to the closing lines his listener’s breath was catching now and then and her eyes and cheeks were aflame: “The star of freedom and the stripes of bondage are henceforth one. American republicanism and American slavery are in the future to be synonymous. This, then, is the final fruit. In this all the labors of our statesmen, the blood of our heroes, the lifelong cares and toils of our forefathers, the aspirations of our scholars, the prayers of good men, have finally ended. America the slave breeder and slaveholder!” As Hardaker looked up and saw her countenance aglow with the fires of her soul it occurred to him that, after all, Rhoda Ware was beautiful. Like the tuned strings of a musical instrument her emotional nature had responded to the touch upon her convictions, and behind this mingled glow of indignation and aspiring soul he felt all the forces of her woman’s heart, her powers of loving, her wealth of compassion and tenderness. As he left the house he muttered to himself: