Spring was in the air; the first faint smell of verdure wafted across the river on the wind.  Stephen turned to the open window, tears of intense agony in his eyes.  In that instant he saw the regiment marching, and the flag flying at its head.

“It is my duty to stay here, Carl,” he said brokenly.

Richter took an appealing step toward him and stopped.  He realized that with this young New Englander a decision once made was unalterable.  In all his knowledge of Stephen he never remembered him to change.  With the demonstrative sympathy of his race, he yearned to comfort him, and knew not how.  Two hundred years of Puritanism had reared barriers not to be broken down.

At the end of the office the stern figure of the Judge appeared.

“Mr. Brice!” he said sharply.

Stephen followed him into the littered room behind the ground glass door, scarce knowing what to expect,—­and scarce caring, as on that first day he had gone in there.  Mr. Whipple himself closed the door, and then the transom.  Stephen felt those keen eyes searching him from their hiding-place.

“Mr. Brice,” he said at last, “the President has called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to crush this rebellion.  They will go, and be swallowed up, and more will go to fill their places.  Mr. Brice, people will tell you that the war will be over in ninety days.  But I tell you, sir, that it will not be over in seven times ninety days.”  He brought down his fist heavily upon the table.  “This, sir, will be a war to the death.  One side or the other will fight until their blood is all let, and until their homes are all ruins.”  He darted at Stephen one look from under those fierce eyebrows.  “Do you intend to go sir?”

Stephen met the look squarely.  “No, sir,” he answered, steadily, “not now.”

“Humph,” said the Judge.  Then he began what seemed a never-ending search among the papers on his desk.  At length he drew out a letter, put on his spectacles and read it, and finally put it down again.

“Stephen,” said Mr. Whipple, “you are doing a courageous thing.  But if we elect to follow our conscience in this world, we must not expect to escape persecution, sir.  Two weeks ago,” he continued slowly, “two weeks ago I had a letter from Mr. Lincoln about matters here.  He mentions you.”

“He remembers me!” cried Stephen

The Judge smiled a little.  “Mr. Lincoln never forgets any one,” said he.  “He wishes me to extend to you his thanks for your services to the Republican party, and sends you his kindest regards.”

This was the first and only time that Mr. Whipple spoke to him of his labors.  Stephen has often laughed at this since, and said that he would not have heard of them at all had not the Judge’s sense of duty compelled him to convey the message.  And it was with a lighter heart than he had felt for many a day that he went out of the door.

Some weeks later, five regiments were mustered into the service of the United States.  The Leader was in command of one.  And in response to his appeals, despite the presence of officers of higher rank, the President had given Captain Nathaniel Lyon supreme command in Missouri.