Ambler's warning gestures, he plunged
headlong into a discussion of political conditions.
As he talked the Major sat trembling in his chair, his stern face flushing
from red to purple, and the heavy veins upon his forehead standing out like
cords. "Vote for Douglas, sir!" he cried at last. "Vote for the biggest
traitor that has gone scot free since Arnold! Why, I'd sooner go over to
the arch-fiend himself and vote for Seward."
"I'm not sure that you won't go farther and fare worse," replied the
Governor, gravely. "You know me for a loyal Whig, sir, but I tell you
frankly, that I believe Douglas to be the man to save the South. Cast him
off, and you cast off your remaining hope."
"Tush, tush!" retorted the Major, hotly. "I tell you I wouldn't vote to
have Douglas President of Perdition, sir. Don't talk to me about your
loyalty, Peyton Ambler, you're mad--you're all mad! I honestly believe that
I am the only sane man in the state."
The Governor had risen from his chair and was walking nervously about the
room. His eyes were dim, and his face was pallid with emotion.
"My God, sir, don't you see where you are drifting?" he cried, stretching
out an appealing hand to the angry old gentleman in the easy chair.
"Drifting! Pooh, pooh!" protested the Major, "at least I am not drifting
into a nest of traitors, sir."
And with his wrath hot within he rose to take his leave, very red and
stormy, but retaining the presence of mind to assure Mrs.
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