Stephen was not in the least moved by McKeever's speech; he had a certain contempt for oratory; even the quiet restraint that characterized most of Benson's utterances in public, and he rarely ventured on a metaphor or happy turn, had always offended him; but his glance was fixed yearningly on a score or more of men in red shirts, who kept together about the speaker. At intervals, from the court-house there issued the sound of cheers and the heavy stamping of feet, but he had no interest in what was passing there; it was McKeever who was worth watching, McKeever and his men! Yet after a time he disengaged himself from the crowd, and was about to turn away, when some one touched him gently on the arm. It was Marian Benson. “I've been standing close at your elbow for the past ten minutes, and you never saw me, you hadn't any eyes for me!” she said, laughing up into his face. “I was listening to McKeever,” he muttered. “But you were looking at the men who've enlisted, you never took your eyes off them; you looked and looked.” “Did I? Aren't you afraid here alone in all this crowd?” he asked. “I am waiting for papa,” she explained. “He has gone into the court-house, but I wanted to hear Captain McKeever, so I told him I would stand here by you. Isn't it dreadfully exciting? Do you think the captain will be able to raise his company? How fine it was of him to go to Columbus and offer to enlist men for the government!” “Oh, yes, every one seems to want to join,” said the young man moodily. He drew her further from the crowd. They turned the corner into Main Street; here there was silence. “I suppose they are afraid it will be over with so soon, don't you?” suggested the girl. “I don't think they need worry about that,” answered Stephen, moved to prophesy. He was conscious that his head ached, and that to have left the crowded square came as a welcome relief to him. “Why should we think it's going to be all our way?” he asked. “I suppose down South they are thinking the same thing; probably they and we are both wrong.” “Shall you go, have you enlisted?” she asked quickly. She was in a flutter of foolish excitement; she had been eager to ask him this. Mentally she clothed his erect stalwart figure in a splendid uniform. War had no significance to her beyond the externals; that it might mean death, and suffering, she had not considered. “No,” he said slowly, but added in the same breath, “not yet;” for he noted the quick change that had come over her, and knew that she was disappointed in him. “If I were a man—” began the girl, and then stopped abruptly, abashed and diffident, realizing to what her words would lead. “And what would you do if you were a man, Marian, surely you wouldn't want to be a soldier?” he said, smiling down at her. “Yes, I should want to be a soldier! What can be more noble than to fight for one's country?”