before the Black Republican convention in Illinois."

Virginia broke again into laughter. And Stephen was very near it, for he
loved the Colonel. That gentleman suddenly checked himself in his tirade,
and turned to him.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "I reckon that you have the same
political sentiments as the Judge. Believe me, sir, I would not willingly
offend a guest."

Stephen smiled. "I am not offended, sir," he said. A speech which caused
Mr. Carvel to bestow a quick glance upon him. But Stephen did not see it.
He was looking at Virginia.

The Colonel rose.

"You will pardon my absence for a while, sir," he said.

"My daughter will entertain you."

In silence they watched him as he strode off under the trees through tall
grass, a yellow setter at his heels. A strange peace was over Stephen.
The shadows of the walnuts and hickories were growing long, and a rich
country was giving up its scent to the evening air. From a cabin behind
the house was wafted the melody of a plantation song. To the young man,
after the burnt city, this was paradise. And then he remembered his
mother as she must be sitting on the tiny porch in town, and sighed. Only
two years ago she had been at their own place at Westbury.

He looked up, and saw the girl watching him. He dared not think that the
expression he caught was one of sympathy, for it changed instantly.

"I am afraid you are the silent kind, Mr. Brice," said she; "I believe it
is a Yankee trait."

Stephen laughed.

"I have known a great many who were not," said he, "When they are
garrulous, they are very much so."

"I should prefer a garrulous one," said Virginia.

"I should think a Yankee were bad enough, but a noisy Yankee not to be
put up with," he ventured.

Virginia did not deign a direct reply to this, save by the corners of her
mouth.

"I wonder," said she, thoughtfully, "whether it is strength of mind or a
lack of ideas that makes them silent."

"It is mostly prudence," said Mr. Brice. "Prudence is our dominant
trait."

Virginia fidgeted. Usually she had an easier time.

"You have not always shown it," she said, with an innocence which in
women is often charged with meaning.

Stephen started. Her antagonism was still there. He would have liked
greatly to know whether she referred to his hasty purchase of Hester, or
to his rashness in dancing with her at her party the winter before.

"We have something left to be thankful for," he answered.