Adair obeyed, and the Pole held his hands together firmly, and said something in a fierce and hissing whisper.
“No need of menace,” replied Ernest, angrily.
“Leave the room, assassin,” said the Pole, releasing his hands, and pointing to the papers on the couch.
Adair gathered them up with deliberation, placed them in his pockets, and left the garret without even a glance at the other.
Laura’s hand was all but on the door of her sister’s house in London. She held under her arm the treasured volume, and she was about to knock, when she once more heard her name.
Ernest Adair stood before her.
“The dead man.” Whether the words escaped her or not, this was the thought in that brief interval between the moment and unconsciousness.
“Go to Lipthwaite, Mrs. Lygon, and go instantly,” said Adair.
Laura remembered no more, until she found herself in the arms of Beatrice.
THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1861.
Since the meeting of the extraordinary Congress at Washington, English people have begun to feel that the great scene of the second American Revolution is really unfolding, and that every day has been bringing on mighty issues, while we were complaining that nothing was being done. This is not the only nonsense that we have talked about an affair which we ought to have understood better. We are now perceiving how much more expedient it is to learn than to criticise; and, as events are marching now, we must be dull scholars not to get on fast.
The meeting of Congress on the Fourth of July is a singular incident in itself. The associations with the assemblage of the two Houses are of intolerable cold out of doors, and an oppressive artificial heat within, alternating with bitter draughts in the passages of the Capitol, and on the staircases of the boarding-houses. The bare trees in Pennsylvania Avenue stand iron-stiff in the frost. The pathways are sheeted with ice, or raised two or three feet by masses of hard snow. The daily banquets are gay, with the steaming dinners, the reviving wine, the vast furnace-fires of anthracite coal, and the abundance of warm light. The business going on in the Capitol is slight in quality and moderate in quantity, in ordinary times; there is plenty of amusement in flitting about to hear the best speakers; the balls are gay, and the session, from the 4th of December to the 4th of March, is a long winter holiday for the Congressional class of society. On the Fourth of July, on the contrary, they are all at their homes, except the Southern members, who have to flee to watering-places, from the fever of their own region. In town or country, among the orchards of New England, or the pine-barrens, or cotton-fields of the Middle States, the citizens rise to a hot day. From daybreak, when they get up to hang out their flags and load their cannon in the cool of the morning, till night when the fireflies stream from the sprays of the trees, like a cascade of green light, all is planned with a view to bearing the heat. City banquets, to celebrate Independence, are held in cool, shaded, breezy halls; and, in the country, the citizens meet in groves, or on lake sides, to enjoy oratory and ices, patriotic songs and fruit in the shade. This year, the scene was unlike any former celebration of the great day. The trees in Pennsylvania Avenue were in full leaf; and sun-blinds had replaced the warm curtains in all windows. The crowd to see the President pass to the Capitol were not muffled up, and blue and pinched, but rather sweltering in the heat, and undergoing “dissolution and thaw” for the sight which must be so memorable. In the Capitol the demand must have been for air and shade, instead of hot flues; and the somewhat dreary landscape from the top of the steps must have been softened by the verdure which many of the members had never seen there before. But there were greater differences. Far away in various directions were lines of camps, with their martial music and hum of voices celebrating the day. Instead of holiday festivity, consecrated by thanksgivings for the blessing of a glorious and prosperous polity, here was a meeting between the Executive Government and the Legislature, to announce to the world the disgrace and calamity of a great rebellion, and to take measures for carrying on a fierce civil war. The contrast between this and every preceding Fourth of July may well fix the attention of the world; and the utterances of the day could not but satisfy European observers that they have been over ready to criticise before they possessed materials for a judgment.
Some excuse for such a mistake is found in Mr. Seward’s presence in the Cabinet. We have heard enough of Mr. Seward’s speeches within two years as candidate for the Presidentship, as a retiring politician, and as minister, to have a decided opinion about both his honesty and his statesmanship; and we cannot but be prejudiced against any government which has him for one of its chief members. Thus far, criticism has been warranted, from whatever quarter it came; for it is impossible that a sensible politician or an honourable man could have changed his tone so often as Mr. Seward, or said such indefensible things. But it may be a question how far the President is censurable for having such a minister. Which of the rumours on this matter are true, or whether any of them, it is unnecessary to inquire. The thing that is generally understood on the spot is that Mr. Seward’s presence in the Cabinet is a mistake, into which the President was led by intrigue; and that, of all Mr. Lincoln’s anxieties, this is perhaps the greatest. It was known, many weeks ago, that there was difficulty in reconciling two parties in the Cabinet, represented by Mr. Seward and Mr. Chase. It now appears that Mr. Chase is strong in his position, clear in his aims, and, as always, steadfast and honest in his avowals. He may be taken as an exponent of the spirit and views of the government, while Mr. Seward may be regarded, I trust, as a temporary and mischievous accident.
