“Some one will suffer,” said Rivers reflectively.  He wondered if the wooing of Ann Grey by this masterful man had been a long one.  A moment he gave to remembrance of his own long and tender care of the very young wife he had won easily and seen fade with terrible slowness as her life let fall its joys as it were leaf by leaf, with bitter sense of losing the fair heritage of youth.  Now he said, “Were all these women, Squire, who had the gift of bewitchment, good?”

“No, now and then hurtful, or honest gentlewomen, or like Ann Grey too entirely good for this wicked world—­”

“As Westways knows,” said Rivers, thinking how the serene beauty of a life of noble ways had contributed spiritual charm to whatever Ann Penhallow had of attractiveness.  “But,” he went on, “Leila cannot go until the fall, and you will still have the boy.  I had my doubts of your method of education, but it has worked well.  He has a good mind and is so far ahead of his years in education that he will be ready for college too early.”

“Well, I hate to think of these changes.  He must learn to box.”

“Another physical virtue to be added,” laughed Rivers.

“Yes, he must learn to face these young country fellows.”  After a brief pause he added, “I am looking forward to Buchanan’s nomination and election, Mark, with anxiety.  Both North and South are losing temper.”

“Yes, but shall you vote for him?  I presume you have always been a Democrat, more or less—­less of late.”

“I shall vote for Fremont if he is nominated; not wholly a wise choice.  I am tired of what seems like an endless effort North and South, to add more exasperations.  It will go on and on.  Each section seems to want to make the other angry.”

“It is not Mrs. Penhallow’s opinion, I fear.  The wrongdoing is all on our side.”

Said the Squire gravely, “That is a matter, Mark, we never now discuss—­the one matter.  Her brothers in Maryland, are at odds.  One at least is bitter, as I gather from their letters.”

“Well, after the election things will quiet down, as usual.”

“They will not, Mark.  I know the South.  Unhappily they think we live by the creed of day-book and ledger.  We as surely misunderstand them, and God alone knows what the future holds for us.”

This was unusual talk for Penhallow.  He thought much, but talked little, and his wife’s resolute attitude of opinions held from youth was the one trouble of an unusually happy life.

“We can only hope for the best,” said Rivers.  “Time is a great peacemaker.”

“Or not,” returned his host as Rivers rose.  “Just a word, Mark, before you go.  I am desirous that you should not misunderstand me in regard to my politics.  I see that slavery is to be more and more in question.  My own creed is, ’let it alone, obey the laws, return the runaways,—­oh! whether you like it or not,—­but no more slave territory.’  And for me, my friend, the States are one country and above all else, above slave questions, is that of an unbroken union.  I shall vote for Fremont.  I cannot go to party meetings and speak for him because, Mark, I am in doubt about the man, and because—­oh! you know.”