before the winds of war; to die at Wilson's
Creek, or Shiloh, or to be spared for heroes of the Wilderness. Some were
to eke out a life of widowhood in poverty. All were to live soberly,
chastened by what they had seen. A fear knocked at Colonel Carvel's heart
as he stood watching the bright figures.

"Brinsmade," he said, "do you remember this room in May, '46?"

Mr. Brinsmade, startled, turned upon him quickly.

"Why, Colonel, you have read my very thoughts," he said. "Some of those
who were here then are--are still in Mexico."

"And some who came home, Brinsmade, blamed God because they had not
fallen," said the Colonel.

"Hush, Comyn, His will be done," he answered; "He has left a daughter to
comfort you."

Unconsciously their eyes sought Virginia. In her gown of faded primrose
and blue with its quaint stays and short sleeves, she seemed to have
caught the very air of the decorous century to which it belonged. She was
standing against one of the pilasters at the side of the room, laughing
demurely at the antics of Becky Sharp and Sir John Falstaff,--Miss Puss
Russell and Mr. Jack Brinsmade, respectively.

Mr. Tennyson's "Idylls" having appeared but the year before, Anne was
dressed as Elaine, a part which suited her very well. It was strange
indeed to see her waltzing with Daniel Boone (Mr. Clarence Colfax) in his
Indian buckskins. Eugenie went as Marie Antoinette. Tall Maude Catherwood
was most imposing as Rebecca; and her brother George made a towering
Friar Tuck, Even little fifteen-year-old Spencer Catherwood, the
contradiction of the family, was there. He went as the lieutenant
Napoleon, walking about with his hands behind his back and his brows
thoughtfully contracted.

The Indian summer night was mild. It was at tine very height of the
festivities that Dorothy Carvel and Mr. Daniel Boone were making their
way together to the porch when the giant gate-keeper of Kenilworth Castle
came stalking up the steps out of the darkness, brandishing his club in
their faces. Dorothy screamed, and even the doughty Daniel gave back a
step.

"Tom Catherwood! How dare you? You frightened me nearly to death."

"I'm sorry, Jinny, indeed I am," said the giant, repentant, and holding
her hand in his.

"Where have you been?" demanded Virginia, a little mollified. "What makes
you so late?"

"I've been to a Lincoln meeting," said honest Tom; "where I heard a very
fine speech from a friend of yours."

Virginia tossed