But when in the second year of the war, Mr. Mason went into the army, their hearts were nearly broken. They declared they could not spare him, the “old darling.” Were there not plenty of younger and stronger men? and besides, they were half Union at heart, and did not share their father's sentiments of fidelity to the Southern cause. They showed no signs of their sorrow at the parting, but, with Spartan endurance, bade him a long farewell, and he set off, followed by the prayers of his beautiful daughters. Letters and messages came often to the little home by the Mississippi, and time did not hang quite as heavily as they had feared it would; but their father's letters were filled with bitter rancor, and he sought earnestly to impress upon their minds the enmity which {279}they should cultivate as daughters of the sunny South, against the soldiers of the North. But there was one chapter in their life which he had not fully conned. Marie would sigh deeply over her father's messages, but Helen, who had more independence and self-reliance, found words of consolation for her. In the days before the war, their home had been the scene of many a pleasant gathering, and among their guests were several young men of Northern birth, whom business or pleasure had brought to the South, and who had found great attractions within their charmed circle. Marie did not know why she took such pleasure in the coming of Walter Ryder, or why she felt so lonely when he was away. Her father had liked the young man for his manly, straightforward bearing and honest principles, but he could not tolerate his becoming a Union soldier, and when he learned of his intention, he forbade his gentle Marie ever to see him again. In vain Walter had striven to see her, if only for an instant, so that he might say good-bye to her. She would not disobey her father, and yet it was with a bitter pang that she refused to meet him once more before his departure. Old Aunt Lois saw how her lily drooped, but she had great faith in her master's judgment, and she didn't “like Northerners nohow,” and yet she wiped many a tear away with the corner of her blue-checked apron, as she lamented about “diswah dat upset eberybody's 'pinions so.” Walter had gone without a word to cheer him. He had gone from the place which had grown so dear, and while pretty Marie wept, Helen chided her for her lack of fortitude. The months went by, and they often heard through returned soldiers of Walter Ryder. Then came news that he was wounded, and then that he had died of his wound. The whole world seemed to have stopped then for poor Marie. She grew thin and white, and she reproached herself incessantly because she had so cruelly refused to see Walter. The house grew strangely still, {280}for there were no more social meetings, and Helen shared the gloom that enveloped Marie.