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MARCH, 1910 *&g> ■/ ■trained, both in and out of the Legisla ture, had failed to procure such action ■on the part of those in authority as would have placed Maryland in a position for ‘ultimate union with the Confederacy, ■while yet such action was feasible. The State was now fast passing under control of the Northern military, but there was still much that might be -done to redeem the day and redound to Maryland’s fair name. A definite ■program was adopted by the party -of action for the special session of ■the Legislature now opened in Fred erick. This program included an offensive ;and defensive alliance with their sis ter State, Virginia, herself not yet a member of the Confederacy or new union. The treaty was to be con cluded through Virginia’s special commissioner, Hon. James M. Mason, sent by Virginia’s authorities to ap pear before the Legislature for this very purpose. Furthermore, the plan of action decided on contemplated the appointment of a Committee of Safety, elected by the Legislature, -charged with the duty of exercising the supreme powers of government and defending the State. Five mil lion dollars was to be placed at the disposal of the proposed Committee for this purpose. Under this ar rangement the idea was to thorough ly organize and equip the State mili tia, so that, though now forever too late to formally carry Maryland out of the old Union and into the new, (where her heart and sympathies were), she would at least have a gal lant army of not less than 40,000 men, which would retain its distinct entity and represent her in the arm ies of the Confederacy, even though she were not represented in the Con federacy’s civil councils. Thus the vigorous and practical plan of procedure of such men of action as Bradley Johnson, Philip Elliott and their allies. Such was mot the program of the patriotic but tradition-governed majority. These ■could not bring themselves to recog nize the fact that desperate diseases require desperate remedies. To ap point a Committee of Safety and en trust to it the prompt arming of the militia would be revolutionary; such methods they could not adopt, even to meet revolutionary conditions. They resolved, they protested, they attempted to resort to Habeas Corpus to preserve their ancient rights and liberties. Meantime, Northern bay onets gleamed in ever increasing (numbers over the State, Habeas Cor pus was given a back seat, and many of the resolvers and protestants soon found themselves in Northern dun geons, there to remain at the sweet will of their captors. Maryland found the despot’s heel indeed upon her shore, and it was with truthful -realism that throughout the South, iin patriotic tableaux representing the several Southern States, Maryland was pictured as a beautiful maiden bound in chains. And now, with nothing further possible to be accomplished for their beloved State by staying at home, the Maryland volunteers and minute men sadly turned their faces and -steps toward old Virginia and the southern shore of the Potomac. .Among these was Phil Elliott, after a brief sojourn at Frederick watch ing the proceedings of the Legisla ture at that place, and taking an ac tive part in the councils of the party •of action. But —during his stay there ,he did not put up at Prentiss Hall! It was a mild, clear night in mid -spring, that of his departure from Baltimore and —Marion Palmer. As he left the sights and sounds of the busy city behind, and reached the ■country—“ God’s country,”—he re membered his mother often calling It in contradistinction to the man made city—spring was indeed in the air, the atmosphere was sweet and fresh and redolent with budding foliage and smiling flowers. Phil Elliott loved the country, and he had within him that spontaneous re- sponse to the glad springtime that finds a home in every human breast, be it that of old or young, civilized or savage. He loved, too, at times, to be alone in the solemn night, with only Nature and his own thoughts for company—unless it was a tried and trusty friend in favorite horse or dog, who could enter into the spirit of the occasion and yet not call for conversation. Ah, how companionable can one of the brute creation be, at times! And such a friend he had with him now; dainty “Southern Lassie,” as he af fectionately called her, the fleet-foot ed, gentle-eyed little sorrel that he had raised as a colt, after the death of her mother in a runaway accident when Lassie was but two months old. With his own hands he had nurtured her, and she was well con tent to follow him around like a dog, though the hand of the friend was also that of the master, and most thoroughly had he “broken her” un der the saddle. But in harness, even the lightest, she had never been. Lassie was full of the joy of living, of the gladness of springtime, of the pleasure of , her master’s company once more, and was prepared to en joy to the utmost this nocturnal out ing. Her master had met her at the boat that brought her over from the Eastern Shore that morning, and he had seen to it that she was promptly taken to the best livery stable in town to be well fed and groomed. The latter he had attended to with his own zealous hands, much to the scandal of the colored stable man, who couldn’t understand “what done got in de haid ob dat young white gem’man, nohow. Reckon he thinks I don’t know nothin’ ob de quality’s ridin’ stock, jes’ like I ain’t been knowed as de best hos’ler in Baltl mo’ fo’ de las’ twenty years, es I does sesso myse’f.” But the irate darkey found the shining dollar which Phil slipped into his hand upon taking Lassie away that evening, just as acceptable, his ivories gleamed just as brightly, as if the donor had acted like the rest of the “quality,” and rested content with the stable hand’s attention to his pet riding mare. They had passed at a dangerously smart pace, from the standpoint of police regulations, through the city streets; but now, the open country once gained, with a delighted whin ny. the blooded filly broke into a run and sped like a bird along the white highway. For a half hour Phil let her “turn herself loose,” as he expressed it, and sat like a cen taur, the rein held lightly yet firmly in his left hand, while the trees, houses and telegraph poles kept up a mad race for the city behind him. At the end of that thirty minutes’ spurt Lassie was as fresh as at the start, but Phil, scanning a sign-post as he passed, slowed her down to an easy lope. “Seven miles and more, little gal: that’s good! But, take it more quietly now; there are some forty more of them to be covered, all lying just ahead.” He patted the arched, glossy neck of the mare, and she whinnied con tentedly. Yet something seemed wrong with her master’s voice or manner, and when, a minute later, he dismounted and adjusted the girth, she turned her head and laid a sympathetic muzzle against his cheek, while Phil gently stroked the intelligent creature’s nose. “Yes, you are right, Lassie,” he said, as if addressing a child, “I am out of sorts this beautiful spring night. And I have a lot of thinking to do, too, before reaching our jour ney’s end. But don't let that bother you, little one; enjoy to the full our outing. I know you would help me if you could.” With another caress he was in the saddle again, but this time he held the mare down to a walk. Yes, it was a beautiful, balmy April night. But it was only in a Woman’s Work, very absent, secondary way that Phil Elliott was conscious of it: as he had confided to Lassie, he had a good deal to think out ere reaching his destination. And through the night he rode, often in a walk, since there was, after all, some limit to his thoroughbred's powers of endurance, and he had time and to spare in which to reach Prentiss Hall by sun rise; again it was in a brisk rack or canter; once in awhile in a dead run again: all the while thinking, think ing, thinking, not alone of the girl he loved and had just left (perhaps forever) in mutual sorrow and anger. His thoughts were also concerned with the scenes and events just ahead. He was bound for Frederick and the busy and stirring events to trans pire there in the coming days. Be ing so bound he had, as a matter of course, intended stopping at Pren tiss Hall while there; and yet, on second thought should he? Per- haps there were reasons more than one for the question, but— “Would it be considerate of Judge Prentiss?” he asked himself. True, he was the son of the Judge’s wife, but Prentiss Hall was the Judge’s property, not hers; the Judge was a New Yorker, with all the political bias of his State and section, and he, Philip Elliott, was going to Frederick with just one purpose in view—as one of the younger and subordinate leaders of the Southern Maryland party, yet one of the most ardent .and active. Should he bring possible embarrass ment upon the Judge by seeking to stay under his roof while acting in such capacity? “Well, that is settled!” Phil spoke the words aloud, dis tinctly, and with emphasis, and struck the pommel of the saddle a resounding blow with his fist. And Lassie, half dozing in the midst of the slow walk to which her master had brought her a quarter of an hour before, pricked up her ears and broke into a gallop. Whatever Phil’s decision on that particular point, it was final (his de cisions, once reached, were usually final), and the subject occupied his mind no longer. But his thoughts were not idle —not for a single mo ment. Back to Baltimore they re verted—to Baltimore and Marion Palmer, and the parting of a few hours before! Hours, or —was it aeons? Whichever it was, it was in the past, the black, black past, be tween which and the present a mighty chasm, an impassable abyss, seemed yawning. And was he think ing out a decision on this score, too? If so, he was much longer reaching it than in the other instance. Long, long he rode in absolute silence, with out so much as a word of control to Lassie, his head bowed and his un seeing gaze fixed on the roadbed ten paces in front of the mare’s nose. A faint grey light began to steal over the landscape, and the twitter of the waking birds in the overhang ing boughs told of the approach of another glad spring morning. The young man straightened up in the saddle, his eyes no longer unseeing, but shining with a new light, almost a smile showing about the yet tightly compressed lips, the clear cut chin no more dropped thoughtfully on his breast, but held proudly up and out. “I shall do my duty, and do it to the best of my ability! And in spite of it —or, because of it—l shall com mand her respect and win her love, yes, please God, I will do both!” He spoke the words under his breath, and, turning as he surmount ed a slight rise in the road, he looked back toward Baltimore and her. Red and yellow gleamed the eastern sky as he looked, in all the splendor of a cloudless springtime morning, and —pulsing and quivering in the midst of the sea of rich color —there was one large, brilliant, silver star. “The darkest hour before the dawn, and the star of hope as the harbinger of coming light and tri umph!” he murmured, half smiling to himself at the conceit. But, some how, a load seemed lifted from his, mind and heart: the joy and beauty of Nature and the springtime he now drank in to the full, and joined—in spirit, at least —with the feathered songsters about him in their joyous psalm of praise. Descending the next slope a stream was reached, flowing across the highway. Here Phil dropped the rein, and Lassie drank gratefully. Dismounting, her master also par took of the sparkling water, first lav ing his eyes and face and wrists. “Prentiss Hall is just ahead, Las sie,” he said, rising to his feet and patting her neck. “But it is just yet too early in the morning for callers on the Judge. We will rest a little while first, even if we don’t feel any particular need of it!” He laughed lightly, yet with a tinge of sadness, then led the mare up stream into a sheltered glade of green grass and budding trees. The ground was swampy in places, once the beaten highway was departed from, and the little sorrel followed gingerly, picking up her trim white stockinged feet like a kitten afraid of the wet, yet anon cropping a mouthful of the new, succulent grass here and there as she went. “And now for a taste of soldier life, Lassie! We shall likely have more than a taste of it, you and I, in the months —or, the years—just ahead.” Selecting a particularly grassy spot, Elliott unbuckled the girth and placed the saddle on the ground. With this as a pillow and the saddle cloth as a pallet, he flung himself down full length, one arm slipped through the bridle rein, leav ing Lassie free to browse at will. She eagerly took two or three mouthfuls, then stopped short, re garding the recumbent body of her master with an inquiring look. Com ing up to him softly, she was about to rub her dainty little white nose against his cheek, as if again to as sure him of her sympathy in case everything were not yet just right with him. But already the young fellow, so much awake and active a moment before, was fast asleep—his head resting on one arm thrown over the saddle, his breath coming with the long, deep regularity of a slum bering child, all trace of doubt and perplexity gone from his face, and a smile parting his lips just enough to show the two rows of even white teeth within. A half minute, out of intelligent, loving eyes, Lassie re garded her unconscious master, then resumed her grazing. But never by any chance was the bridle rein, through which the sleeping man’s arm was thrown, drawn taut so as to awaken or disturb him. An hour later Phil opened his eyes and lay still a moment, regarding the pretty picture presented by the grassy glade in the early morning sunlight, with the grazing horse in the midst. Then he arose, and—- again bathing his head and hands in the rippling stream—saddled and mounted Lassie, and proceeded at a lope up the road that led to Prentiss Hall. At the broad gate before the Judge’s mansion, he dismounted and flung bridle rein over a post. Booted and spurred, Phil Elliott strode up the gravel walk winding among the trees of the grassy lawn of his step father’s residence, and, mounting the steps of the broad, columned piazza, sounded the brass knocker on the hall door. Presently the door was opened, and Jerry, one of the young tnegroes brought by Mrs. Prentiss from Eller ton the summer before, stared In open-mouthed amazement at his young master. “Well, Jerry,” Phil remarked, good humoredly, “I certainly hope you will know me next time you see me! Tell Judge Prentiss lam here and wish to see him.” “Yassir; I’ll tell him, Marse Phil. But fo’ de lan’s sake, whar you done drap from? An’ bless dis nigger es dar aint Lassie at de gate! Why didn’t you bring her up to de do’, Marse Phil? You want me to take ’er ’roun’ to de stable, I s’pose?” “No, never mind the mare, Jerry. Just do as I tell you. I shall take a seat here on the piazza—where I can keep an eye on Lassie. And you may also ask Miss Louisa ( twas thus Mrs. Prentiss was known to the servants at Ellerton), “to step out here.” He spoke not unkindly, but in a tone that Jerry knew full well of old brooked no argument, but called for instantaneous obedience: so the boy turned and went into the house, won dering to himself: “Hi! What in de name er goodness done come oner Marse Phil, anyhow? He take and drap down hyar in de early mornin, like Gabriel wid de las’ trump, an 3