"With me it will end here, Rose," said Septimius. "It may be lawful for any
man, even if he have devoted himself to God, or however peaceful his
pursuits, to fight to the death when the enemy's step is on the soil of
his home; but only for that perilous juncture, which passed, he should
return to his own way of peace. I have done a terrible thing for once,
dear Rose, one that might well trace a dark line through all my future
life; but henceforth I cannot think it my duty to pursue any further a
work for which my studies and my nature unfit me."

"Oh no! Oh no!" said Rose; "never! and you a minister, or soon to be one.
There must be some peacemakers left in the world, or everything will turn
to blood and confusion; for even women grow dreadfully fierce in these
times. My old grandmother laments her bedriddenness, because, she says,
she cannot go to cheer on the people against the enemy. But she remembers
the old times of the Indian wars, when the women were as much in danger of
death as the men, and so were almost as fierce as they, and killed men
sometimes with their own hands. But women, nowadays, ought to be gentler;
let the men be fierce, if they must, except you, and such as you,
Septimius."

"Ah, dear Rose," said Septimius, "I have not the kind and sweet impulses
that you speak of. I need something to soften and warm my cold, hard life;
something to make me feel how dreadful this time of warfare is. I need
you, dear Rose, who are all kindness of heart and mercy."

And here Septimius, hurried away by I know not what excitement of the
time,--the disturbed state of the country, his own ebullition of passion,
the deed he had done, the desire to press one human being close to his
life, because he had shed the blood of another, his half-formed purposes,