"In two wars, sir," he glanced down at his arm as if he half expected to
see a wound, "and I shall never fight for another," he added with a sigh.
"My fighting days are over."
They were both silent, and the logs merrily crackled on the great brass
andirons, while the flames went singing up the chimney. A glass of Burgundy
was at the rector's hand, and he lifted it from the silver tray and sipped
it as he waited. At last the old man spoke, bending forward from his
station upon the hearth-rug.
"You haven't seen Peyton Ambler, I reckon?"
"I passed him coming out of town and he was trembling like a leaf," replied
the rector. "He looks badly, by the way. I must remember to tell the doctor
he needs building up."
"He didn't speak about this, eh?"
"About South Carolina? Oh, yes, he spoke, sir. It happened that Jack Powell
came up with him when I did--the boy was cheering with all his might, and I
heard him ask the Governor if he questioned the right of the state to
secede?"
"And Peyton said, sir?" The Major leaned eagerly toward him.
"He said," pursued the rector, laughing softly. "'God forbid, my boy, that
I should question the right of any man or any country to pursue folly.'"
"Folly!" cried the Major, sharply, firing at the first sign of opposition.
"It was a brave deed, sir, a brave deed--and I--yes, I envy the honour for
Virginia. And as for Peyton Ambler, it is my belief that it is he who has
sapped the courage of the state.
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