The Northern Senators were in their seats with grave faces long before
the last straggling Southerner picked his way into the Chamber bowing
and smiling and apologizing to the ladies on whose richly embroidered
dresses he must step or give up the journey.
For weeks the pretense of polite formalities between parties had been
unconsciously dropped. Men no longer bowed and smirked and passed the
time of day with shallow words.
With heads erect, they glanced at each other and passed on. And if they
spoke, it was with taunt, insult and challenge.
Jennie's keen eyes rested on two vacant chairs on the floor of the
Senate--every seat was crowded save these two.
She pressed Dick's arm.
"See--the vacant seats of South Carolina!"
"They're not vacant," the boy drawled.
"They are--look--"
"I see a white figure in each--"
"Nonsense!"
"We're going to have war, I tell you! Death sits in those chairs to-day,
Jennie--"
"Sh--don't talk like that--"
The boy laughed.
"I'm not afraid, you know--just a sort of second sight--maybe it means
I'll be killed--"
* * * * *
South Carolina had felt no forebodings on the day her Convention had
recalled those Senators. Kiett the eloquent leader of the Convention
sprang to his feet, his face flaming with passion that was half delirium
as he shouted:
"This day is the culmination of long years of bitterness, of suffering
and of struggle.
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