“That’s true. And the more I think of it the more I believe that even if he fails in his first attempt, as he is very likely to do, it will be a good strong thrust that will make the South fairly stagger. I told him I’d wait to see whether or not he made a beginning before I decided about joining him. But I doubt very much, Rhoda, whether you and I will have a chance to work under John Brown.” “I’ll be ready to go whenever you say the word, father,” she said with grave earnestness. Now and then a letter passed between Rhoda and Jefferson Delavan, a letter of intimate friendliness, telling of personal matters and mutual interests. Once only did he touch upon the slavery question, which formerly they had argued with such earnestness, and then he filled a long letter with an endeavor to prove to her that the negro race had been benefited by slavery, that in taking it from its barbarous state and bringing it in contact with civilization the slaveholders had lifted it to a higher plane of moral and intellectual life. When she replied she said merely, “No more of that, please, if you still love me! Each of us knows that the other’s convictions are honest and deeply rooted. We can’t agree, so let’s not argue, but just enjoy our friendship.” Nor was there in their correspondence any mention of love, or of possible or impossible marriage. But toward the end of summer, when a little band of men was warily gathering in a Maryland farmhouse, one of Jeff’s letters set Rhoda’s heart to fluttering. There was in it, save for some terms of endearment which seemed to have flowed unconsciously from his pen, no putting into words of a lover’s hopes. But she felt through every line the burning of the lover’s heart. And a few weeks later there came a brief note saying, “I shall be in Hillside soon and shall count on seeing you.” For a day Rhoda’s heart sang with joy, “He is coming, he is coming! I shall see him, have him here beside me!” and would listen to no warnings of her mind. Then she wrote, “Don’t come! I beg of you, Jeff, don’t come! What is the use!” And lest her courage might fail her, she quickly sealed and posted her missive. But when the October woods were bright with flaming color, and the little band of men in the Maryland farmhouse were waiting for the order to march, and Rhoda and her father were saying to each other every morning, “There may be news to-day,” Jefferson Delavan appeared at her door. “I told you not to come!” she said, and gave him her hand, while face and eyes belied the meaning of her words. His heart gladdened at their sweet shining as he held her hand in both of his and answered, “And I disobeyed--because I couldn’t help it.” Then, for a moment, their starving, delighted gaze fed upon each other’s eyes, until Rhoda suddenly felt that he was about to break into lover’s speech. Impulsively she laid a finger across his lips. He seized and held it there while she exclaimed: