you have gained. You are not content with depriving us of our rights, and
our fortunes, with forcing us back to an allegiance we despise. You are
not content with humiliating our generals and putting innocent men in
prisons. But now I suppose you will shoot us all. And all this mercy that
I have heard about means nothing--nothing--"

Why did she falter and stop?

"Miss Carvel," said the President, "I am afraid from what I have heard
just now, that it means nothing." Oh, the sadness of that voice,--the
ineffable sadness,--the sadness and the woe of a great nation! And the
sorrow in those eyes, the sorrow of a heavy cross borne meekly,--how
heavy none will ever know. The pain of a crown of thorns worn for a world
that did not understand. No wonder Virginia faltered and was silent. She
looked at Abraham Lincoln standing there, bent and sorrowful, and it was
as if a light had fallen upon him. But strangest of all in that strange
moment was that she felt his strength. It was the same strength she had
felt in Stephen Brice. This was the thought that came to her.

Slowly she walked to the window and looked out across the green grounds
where the wind was shaking the wet trees, past the unfinished monument to
the Father of her country, and across the broad Potomac to Alexandria in
the hazy distance. The rain beat upon the panes, and then she knew that
she was crying softly to herself. She had met a force that she could not
conquer, she had looked upon a sorrow that she could not fathom, albeit
she had known sorrow.

Presently she felt him near. She turned and looked through her tears at
his face that was all compassion. And now she was unashamed. He had
placed a chair behind her.