o, for at the thought of bloodshed she was near to
fainting.

"Oh," exclaimed Virginia, passionately, "I believe you want them to
surrender. I should rather see Clarence dead than giving his sword to a
Yankee."

At that the other two were silent again, and sat on through an endless
afternoon of uncertainty and hope and dread in the darkened room. Now and
anon Mr. Catherwood's heavy step was heard as he paced the hall. From
time to time they glanced at Virginia, as if to fathom her thought. She
and Puss Russell had come that day to dine with Maude. Mr. Catherwood's
Ben, reeking of the stable, had brought the rumor of the marching on the
camp into the dining-room, and close upon the heels of this the rumble of
the drums and the passing of Sigel's regiment. It was Virginia who had
the presence of mind to slam the blinds in the faces of the troops, and
the crowd had cheered her. It was Virginia who flew to the piano to play
Dixie ere they could get by, to the awe and admiration of the girls and
the delight of Mr. Catherwood who applauded her spirit despite the
trouble which weighed upon him. Once more the crowd had cheered,--and
hesitated. But the Dutch regiment slouched on, impassive, and the people
followed.

Virginia remained at the piano, her mood exalted patriotism, uplifted in
spirit by that grand song. At first she had played it with all her might.
Then she sang it. She laughed in very scorn of the booby soldiers she had
seen. A million of these, with all the firearms in the world, could not
prevail against the flower of the South. Then she had begun whimsically
to sing a verse of a song she had heard the week before, and suddenly her
exaltation was fled, and her fingers left the keys. Gaining the window,
trembling, half-expectant, she flung open a blind. The troops, the
people, were gone, and there alone in the road stood--Stephen Brice. The
others close behind her saw him, too, and Puss cried out in her surprise.
The impression, when the room was dark once more, was of sternness and
sadness,--and of strength. Effaced was the picture of the plodding
recruits with their coarse and ill-fitting uniforms of blue.

Virginia shut the blinds. Not a word escaped her, nor could they tell
why--they did not dare to question her then. An hour passed, perhaps two,
before the shrill voice of a boy was heard in the street below.

"Camp Jackson has surrendered!"

They heard the patter of his bare feet on the pavement, and the