“We must consider the horses, my dear,” she responded. “Mr. Hicks, will you see that the horses are well fed and watered. Let them take their time.” “Oh, I forgot the horses,” returned Betty apologetically, and patiently sat down with her arm leaning in the window. There was a smile on her lips, and she stared with bright eyes at the oak trees and the children playing among the acorns. XIV THE HUSH BEFORE THE STORM The autumn crept into winter; the winter went by, short and fitful, and the spring unfolded slowly. With the milder weather the mud dried in the roads, and the Major and the Governor went daily into Leicesterburg. The younger man had carried his oratory and his influence into the larger cities of the state, and he had come home, at the end of a month of speech-making, in a fervour of almost boyish enthusiasm. “I pledge my word for it, Julia,” he had declared to his wife, “it will take more than a Republican President to sever Virginia from the Union--in fact, I'm inclined to think that it will take a thunderbolt from heaven, or the Major for a despot!” When, as the spring went on, men came from the political turmoil to ask for his advice, he repeated the words with a conviction that was in itself a ring of emphasis. “We are in the Union, gentlemen, for better or for worse”--and of all the guests who drank his Madeira under the pleasant shade of his maples, only the Major found voice to raise a protest. “We'll learn, sir, we'll live and learn,” interposed the old gentleman. “Let us hope we shall live easily,” said the doctor, lifting his glass. “And learn wisdom,” added the rector, with a chuckle. Through the spring and summer they rode leisurely back and forth, bringing bundles of newspapers when they came, and taking away with them a memory of the broad white portico and the mellow wine. The Major took a spasmodic part in the discussions of peace or war, sitting sometimes in a moody silence, and flaring up, like an exhausted candle, at the news of an abolition outbreak. In his heart he regarded the state of peace as a mean and beggarly condition and the sure resort of bloodless cowards; but even a prospect of the inspiring dash of war could not elicit so much as the semblance of his old ardour. His smile flashed but seldom over his harsh features--it needed indeed the presence of Mrs. Ambler or of Betty to bring it forth--and his erect figure had given way in the chest, as if a strong wind bent him forward when he walked.