Hall in Broad street. You will surely find him there, but you must have
your luncheon first. I think you must have travelled far."

"From Kentucky," replied Harry, and then he added impulsively: "I've
come to join your people, Madame Delaunay. South Carolina has many and
powerful friends in the Upper South."

"She will need them," said Madame Delaunay, but with no tone of
apprehension. "This, however, is a city that has withstood much fire
and blood and it can withstand much more. Now I'll leave you here
in the garden. Come to luncheon at one, and you shall meet my other
guests."

Harry sat down on a little wooden bench beneath a magnolia. Here in the
garden the odor of grass and foliage was keen, and thrillingly sweet.
This was the South, the real South, and its warm passions leaped up in
his blood. Much of the talk that he had been hearing recently from
those older than he passed through his mind. The Southern states did
have a right to go if they chose, and they were being attacked because
their prominence aroused jealousy. Slavery was a side issue, a mere
pretext. If it were not convenient to hand, some other excuse would be
used. Here in Charleston, the first home of secession, among people who
were charming in manner and kind, the feeling was very strong upon him.

He left the house after luncheon, and, following Madame Delaunay's
instructions, came very quickly to St. Andrew's hall in Broad street,
where five days before, the Legislature of South Carolina, after
adjourning from Columbia, had passed the ordinance of secession.

Two soldiers in the Palmetto uniform were on guard, but they quickly let