AT LYNCH'S Rand, walking hastily through the hail of the Capitol, came out into the portico.

Before him, between the great pillars, the landscape showed in glittering silver, in the brown of leafless trees and the hard green of pine and fir.

The hill fell steep and white to the houses at its base and to the trampled street.

In the still and crystal air the river made itself plainly heard.

Across, on the Chesterfield side, the woods formed a long smudge of umber against the blue of the afternoon sky.
There were people here in the open air as there had been in the corridor, a number of men talking loudly, or excitedly whispering, or in silence rolling triumph beneath the tongue, or digesting defeat.