de. That is too near the city. With frantic haste she
closes the trunk, which Ephum and Jackson carry downstairs and place
between the seats of the carriage. Ned had had the horses in it since
church time. It is not safe outside. But where to go?

To Glencoe? It is three in the afternoon, and Jackson explains that, with
the load, they would not reach there until midnight, if at all. To
Kirkwood or Webster? Yes; many of the first families live there, and
would take them in for the night. Equipages of all sorts are passing,
--private carriages and public, and corner-stand hacks. The black drivers
are cracking whips over galloping horses.

Pedestrians are hurrying by with bundles under their arms, some running
east, and some west, and some stopping to discuss excitedly the chances
of each direction. From the river comes the hoarse whistle of the boats
breaking the Sabbath stillness there. It is a panic to be remembered.

Virginia leaned against the iron railing of the steps, watching the
scene, and waiting for Ned to return from Mr. Brinsmade's. Her face was
troubled, as well it might be. The most alarming reports were cried up to
her from the street, and she looked every moment for the black smoke of
destruction to appear to the southward. Around her were gathered the
Carvel servants, most of them crying, and imploring her not to leave
them. And when Mrs. Colfax's trunk was brought down and placed in the
carriage where three of them might have ridden to safety, a groan of
despair and entreaty rose from the faithful group that went to her heart.

"Miss Jinny, you ain't gwineter leave yo' ol mammy?"

"Hush, Mammy," she said. "No, you shall all go, if I have to stay myself.
Ephum, go to the livery stable and get another carriage."

She went up into her own deserted room to gather the few things she would
take with her--the little jewellery case with the necklace of pearls
which her great-grandmother had worn at her wedding. Rosetta and Mammy
Easter were of no use, and she had sent them downstairs again. With a
flutter she opened her wardrobe door, to take one last look at the gowns
there. You will pardon her. They were part of happier days gone by. She
fell down on her knees and opened the great drawer at the bottom, and
there on the top lay the dainty gown which had belonged to Dorothy
Manners. A tear fell upon one of the flowers of the stays. Irresistibly
pressed into her mind the memory of Anne's fancy dress ball,--of