in the quiet little parlor of widow heartwell, in the early may morning, the tender breeze stole in and out of the window, fluttering the muslin curtain and filling the apartment with delicious perfume. in the same parlor a few chosen friends were assembled, to witness the solemn ceremony that was to deprive them of the pride and favorite of the village. as the dial upon the delicate face of the little bronze clock on the mantel marked the hour of eight, the flutter of robes and the rustling of footsteps ushered in the expectant pair, and at once all the guests arose.
pale and trembling, mrs. heartwell took her place beside her daughter, as she stood before the venerable minister. for years the rev. mr. pratt had been their pastor and spiritual adviser, and his heart was filled with deep emotion as he pronounced the solemn words that bound this child of his love and watchful care to her husband, to be "his servitor for aye." amid smothered sobs, he invoked heaven's benediction upon their wedded hearts, praying that, as love had directed this union, so love might attend them, even unto death.
amid sighs and tears, the congratulations were received, and when at length fred pinckney found a moment to whisper in george marshall's ear, he said, with characteristic drollery, "by jupiter? i'll be glad when the coach comes. i can't stand so much crying; it's more like a funeral than a wedding. if they are obliged to blubber this way when a fellow marries, i think i shall back out."
another hour and the bridal party had departed. the fair flower of melrose was gone, changed from a lonely maiden to a happy, hopeful bride; gone to follow the footsteps of a true, brave-hearted husband,-gone from melrose, leaving many aching hearts behind; leaving, too, a vacancy that no succession of years could ever quite fill.
a fortnight after the quiet wedding in melrose, late one afternoon, george marshall and his wife were walking slowly along the ever-thronged battery of the queen city, whither they had come on a visit to captain marshall's uncle, dr. thornwell. a serious expression rested upon the young captain's face, as he surveyed the long lines of tents that dotted the open square and bordered the broad street-so serious indeed, that he scarcely heeded the passers-by who were bowing salutations to him and his fair bride.
"george, you seem so abstracted; you scarcely noticed frank brewster as he passed just now in the brett with florence dale. what's the matter, dear?"
"i'm troubled, perplexed, pondering, my dear. yet i did not mean to be so abstracted. i must beg your forgiveness, as well as that of my friends."
"oh! never mind me, george; only tell me what troubles you."
"nothing more than the perplexing question that has harassed me ever since i came home, and saw beyond a doubt that we should have war-the question that i must soon decide, whether i shall desert my state in time of peril, or my country. in either course of acting, i shall be branded as a traitor, or a rebel. it's a serious dilemma to be placed in, dear eliza, and i must act wisely, and like a man. my heart is dreadfully divided: duty calls me to my country, and love calls me to my home. my forebodings, too, whisper that this war will be no trifling affair."
"well, for my part, george, and you already know it, i am opposed to secession. fred pinckney says it's on account of the whig blood that flows in my veins. i told him that my father, and my grandfather before him, were uncompromising whigs. it may be so; i don't know. i abhor the idea of bloodshed, and as yet, i think we have had little cause to declare war."
"you are a sage little woman, and your argument sound, but these sentiments won't do to promulgate in the queen city. remember, i am still a commissioned officer in the united states army. be careful."
"oh! i am not afraid of my sentiments, or of being deemed traitorous. only this morning, colonel legare asked me if i would present the palmetto rifles with the new flag he had made for them. but to return. war is war, george, and should be entered into with caution."
"yes; you are right. i feel at times as though i could not fight against the flag of my country; and then, on the other hand, i would not fight against my home and kindred. there seems but one alternative left to me-to resign my commission in the army and not take up arms at all," replied the young officer sadly.
"well, cheer up. don't grow despondent. i hope wisdom will direct your decision; and remember, if the thought will give you any comfort, that i have sworn to follow your footsteps and your fortune, wheresoever they may lead, be it from craggy maine to wild colorado," said the young wife with forced pleasantry.
"bravo! what a lucky fellow i am! surely no evil will befall me. your cheering words decide my choice; wisdom, you say, will direct the decision. it shall be made. we will once more make the charming round of this inviting boulevard, and then i'll tell you my decision. there goes fred pinckney on horseback. how handsome he looks in that uniform! he belongs to the palmetto rifles, i believe."
"yes, so he does. fred's a gallant, handsome fellow, a little too hot-blooded, though," replied the young wife, thoughtfully.
once again the gay promenade was traversed, and as the sun's last ray was faintly dying, the young wife stopped, and leaning gently on the railing with eye turned toward the sea, she said, "now, george, tell me your decision." and he replied quickly, "i shall resign my commission in the army, and cast my lot with my people and my state. alas! i may never see franco again!"
"i trust you have acted wisely," replied the young wife, thoughtfully. "but, oh, george, see defiance. see how the dying sun gilds the flag, the new flag that has risen above the old one that floated there when i was here a school-girl. somehow i love the old flag, the stars and stripes-'whig blood,' i suppose; but defiance always looked so grim and terrible to me, even when i was a school-girl, in peaceful days, and now it appears a terrible monster of horror!"
"oh! defiance bears you no ill-will, my darling. it's a quiet old fort, that will protect us from our enemies. long live the memory of the man who surrendered it only at the mouth of cannon! but come, let's be going. it's late; already pedestrians and vehicles are turning homeward."
how sad, that time so far has furnished no historian or biographer truthfully and charitably to chronicle the terrible struggle of many noble-souled men, who sacrificed the love of country for the love of state in that unhallowed civil war! yet there is the truth that the great searcher of human hearts has his record on high; and in the unfolding hereafter, many souls that here were branded as traitors, will there receive the rewards of patriots. scores who were here despised for cowardice, will there receive the plaudits that await the brave. legions who have perished in ignominious cells, will there be found crowned heroes. for who knows the yet unwritten record of the horrible war between the states, but the heroes who perished here and passed on beyond?
