With the little guard of ten sailors he marched the mile and a half to General Weitzel’s headquarters,—­the presidential mansion of the Confederacy.  You can imagine our anxiety.  I shall remember him always as I saw him that day, a tall, black figure of sorrow, with the high silk hat we have learned to love.  Unafraid, his heart rent with pity, he walked unharmed amid such tumult as I have rarely seen.  The windows filled, the streets ahead of us became choked, as the word that the President was coming ran on like quick-fire.  The mob shouted and pushed.  Drunken men reeled against him.  The negroes wept aloud and cried hosannas.  They pressed upon him that they might touch the hem of his coat, and one threw himself on his knees and kissed the President’s feet.

Still he walked on unharmed, past the ashes and the ruins.  Not as a conqueror was he come, to march in triumph.  Not to destroy, but to heal.  Though there were many times when we had to fight for a path through the crowds, he did not seem to feel the danger.

Was it because he knew that his hour was not yet come?

To-day, on the boat, as we were steaming between the green shores of the Potomac, I overheard him reading to Mr. Sumner:—­

          “Duncan is in his grave;
        After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;
        Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,
        Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
        Can touch him further.”

          WILLARD’S hotel, Washington, April 10, 1865.

I have looked up the passage, and have written it in above.  It haunts me.

CHAPTER XV

MAN OF SORROW

The train was late—­very late.  It was Virginia who first caught sight of the new dome of the Capitol through the slanting rain, but she merely pressed her lips together and said nothing.  In the dingy brick station of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad more than one person paused to look after them, and a kind-hearted lady who had been in the car kissed the girl good-by.

“You think that you can find your uncle’s house, my dear?” she asked, glancing at Virginia with concern.  Through all of that long journey she had worn a look apart.  “Do you think you can find your uncle’s house?”

Virginia started.  And then she smiled as she looked at the honest, alert, and squarely built gentleman beside her.

“Captain Brent can, Mrs. Ware,” she said.  “He can find anything.”

Whereupon the kind lady gave the Captain her hand.  “You look as if you could, Captain,” said she.  “Remember, if General Carvel is out of town, you promised to bring her to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Captain Lige, “and so I shall.”

“Kerridge, kerridge!  Right dis-a-way!  No sah, dat ain’t de kerridge you wants.  Dat’s it, lady, you’se lookin at it.  Kerridge, kerridge, kerridge!”