“I wouldn’t make such a fuss, let what would happen to me,” said the Widow Simms, casting a half contemptuous glance upon the weeping woman, whom she evidently considered far beneath her, and adding, “They had ‘nough-sight better be shot than hung,’ as an aside to the young woman just behind her,—sweet Annie Graham, who was holding fast to her husband’s hand, as if she would thus keep him in spite of the speaker’s eloquent appeals, and the whispers of his companions, who were urging him to join the company forming so rapidly before the altar. There was a terrible struggle going on in Annie Graham’s breast,—duty to her country and love for her husband waging a mighty conflict, the former telling her that if the right would triumph, somebody’s husband must go, and the wife-heart crying out, “Yes, somebody’s husband _must_ go, I know, but not mine, not George.” Very tenderly George Graham’s strong arm encircled the girlish form, and when he saw how fast the tears came to the great dreamy eyes of blue, and thought how frail was the wife of little more than a year, he bent down until his chin rested on her pale brown hair, and whispered softly to her, “Don’t, Annie, darling, you know I will never go unless you think I ought, and give your free consent.” Had George Graham wished, he could not have chosen a more powerful argument than the words, “Unless you think I ought.” Annie repeated them to herself again and again, until consciousness of all else around her was forgotten in that one question of _duty_. She heard no longer the second speaker, whose burning eloquence was stirring up hitherto reluctant young men to place their names beside others already pledged to their country’s cause. Leaning forward so that her forehead rested on the railing in front, she tried to pray, but flesh and strength were weak, and the prayer ended always with the unuttered cry, “I cannot let George go,” while the fingers twined more and more closely around the broad, warm hand, which sought awhile to reassure her, and then was withdrawn from her grasp as George arose and politely offered his seat to a lady who had just arrived, and who, after glancing an instant at his _coat_, accepted his civility as a matter of course, but withheld the thanks she would have accorded to one whom she considered her equal.