His heart had never before
warmed so much to a stranger.
Colonel Talbot closed and locked the door of their room. It was a large
bare apartment with two windows overlooking the town, and two small beds
against opposite walls. The colonel put his valise at the foot of one
bed, and walked to the window. The night had lightened somewhat and he
saw the roofs of buildings, the dim line of the yellow river, and the
dusky haze of hills beyond. He turned his head and looked steadily in
the direction in which lay Charleston. A look of ineffable sadness
overspread his face.
The light on the table was none too bright, but Harry saw Colonel
Talbot's melancholy eyes, and he could not refrain from asking:
"What's the trouble, colonel?"
The South Carolinian turned from the window, sat down on the edge of the
bed and smiled. It was an illuminating smile, almost the smile of youth.
"I'm afraid that everything's the matter, Harry, boy," he said. "South
Carolina, the state that I love even more than the Union to which it
belongs, or belonged, has gone out, and, Harry, because I'm a son of
South Carolina I must go with it--and I don't want to go. But I've been
a soldier all my life.
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