"Miss Van Lew, permit me to introduce to you Signor Henrico Socola of the Sardinian Ministry. He is the duly accredited but unofficial agent of his Majesty, Victor Emmanuel, and is cultivating friendly relations with the new Government of the South." Miss Van Low extended her hand and took the outstretched one with a warmth that surprised her visitor beyond measure. "I recognized him at once," she said with emotion. "Recognized me?" "Your dear mother, sir, was my schoolmate in Philadelphia. I loved her. How alike you are!" "Then we shall be friends--" "We shall be more than friends--we shall be comrades--" She paused and turned to the stranger: "You can leave us now." With a bow the man turned and left the room. Socola studied the little woman who had deliberately chosen to lay her life, her fortune and her home on the altar of her Country. He saw with a glance at her delicate but commanding figure the brilliant, accomplished, resolute woman of personality and charm. She took the young man's hand again in hers and led him to a high-backed mahogany settee. She stroked the hands with her thin, cold fingers. "How perfect the image of your mother! I would have known you anywhere. _You_ must know and trust me. I was sent North to school. I came back to Virginia a more determined Abolitionist than ever. Our people have always hated Slavery. I made good my faith by freeing mine. We're not so well-to-do now, my mother and I." She paused and looked wistfully about the stately room. "This house could tell the story of gay and beautiful scenes--of balls--receptions and garden parties in bowers of roses--of coaches drawn by six snow-white horses standing at our door for the start to the White Sulphur Springs--" She stopped suddenly, mastered her emotions and went on dreamily: "Of great men and distinguished families our guests from the North and the South--Bishop Mann, Chief Justice John Marshall, the Lees, the Robinsons, Wickhams, Adams, Cabells,--the Carringtons--Fredrika Bremer, the Swedish novelist, visited us and wrote of us in her 'Homes in the New World.' Jennie Lind in the height of her glory sang in this room. Edgar Allan Poe read here aloud his immortal poem, 'The Raven.' You must realize what it means to me to become an outcast in Richmond--" She drew from her bosom a newspaper clipping and handed it to Socola. "Read that paragraph from this morning's editorial columns--" The young man scanned the marked clipping. RAPPED ON THE KNUCKS "One of the City papers contained on Monday a word of exhortation to certain females of Southern residence (and perhaps birth) but of decidedly Northern and Abolition proclivities. The creatures, though specially alluded to, are not named. If such people do not wish to be exposed and dealt with as alien enemies to the country they would do well to cut stick while they can do so with safety to their worthless carcasses--" "And you will not 'cut stick'?"