escort was slight. Never were there many men spared for these duties.
The dead would have been the first to speak against it. Every man in
life was needed at the front. The dozen troopers stalled their horses in
two of the box cars and themselves took possession of a third. The bell
rang, slowly and tollingly. The train moved toward Charlottesville, and
the little crowd of country folk was left in the June sunshine with the
empty ambulance. In the gold afternoon, the bell slowly ringing, the
train crept into Charlottesville.

In this town, convenient for hospitals and stores, midway between
Richmond and the Valley, a halting place for troops moving east and
west, there were soldiers enough for a soldier's escort to his resting
place. The concourse at the station was large, and a long train followed
the bier of the dead general out through the town to the University of
Virginia, and the graveyard beyond.

There were no students now at the University. In the white-pillared
rotunda surgeons held council and divided supplies. In the ranges, where
were the cell-like students' rooms, and in the white-pillared
professors' houses, lay the sick and wounded. From room to room, between
the pillars, moved the nursing women. To-day the rotunda was cleared.
Surgeons and nurses snatched one half-hour, and, with the families from
the professors' houses, and the men about the place and the servants,
gathered upon the rotunda steps, or upon the surrounding grassy slopes,
to watch the return of an old student. It was not long before they heard
the Dead March.

For an hour the body lay between the white columns before the rotunda
that Jefferson had built. Soldiers and civilians, women and children,
passing before the bier, looked upon the marble face and the hand that
clasped the sword. Then, toward sunset, the coffin lid was closed, the
bearers took the coffin up, the Dead March began again, and all moved
toward the graveyard.

Dusk gathered, soft and warm, and filled with fireflies. The Greenwood
carriage, with the three sisters and Miss Lucy, drew slowly through the
scented air up to the dim old house. Julius opened the door. The ladies
stepped out, and in silence went up the steps. Molly had been crying.
The little handkerchief which she dropped, and which was restored to her
by Julius, was quite wet.

Julius, closing the carriage door, looked after the climbing figures:
"Fo' de Lawd, you useter could hear dem laughin' befo' dey