the troops could not be sent away, as they had been enlisted to serve
only in St. Louis; whereupon the General in his proclamation states that
he has no control over these Home Guards. That sentence has been twisted
by some rascal into a confession that the Home Guards are not to be
controlled. I can assure you, Miss Carvel," added Stephen, speaking with
a force which made her start and thrill, "I can assure you from a
personal knowledge of the German troops that they are not a riotous lot,
and that they are under perfect control. If they were not, there are
enough regulars in the city to repress them."

He paused. And she was silent, forgetful of the hub-bub around her. It
was then that her aunt called out to her, with distressing shrillness,
from the carriage:-- "Jinny, Jinny, how can you stand there talking to
young men when our lives are in danger?"

She glanced hurriedly at Stephen, who said gently; "I do not wish to
delay you, Miss Carvel, if you are bent upon going."

She wavered. His tone was not resentful, simply quiet. Ephum turned the
corner of the street, the perspiration running on his black face.

"Miss Jinny, dey ain't no carridges to be had in this town. No'm, not for
fifty dollars."

This was the occasion for another groan from the negroes, and they began
once more to beseech her not to leave them. In the midst of their cries
she heard her aunt calling from the carriage, where, beside the trunk,
there was just room for her to squeeze in.

"Jinny," cried that lady, frantically, "are you to go or stay? The
Hessians will be here at any moment. Oh, I cannot stay here to be
murdered!"

Unconsciously the girl glanced again at Stephen. He had not gone, but was
still standing in the rain on the steps, the one figure of strength and
coolness she had seen this afternoon. Distracted, she blamed the fate
which had made this man an enemy. How willingly would she have leaned
upon such as he, and submitted to his guidance. Unluckily at that moment
came down the street a group which had been ludicrous on any other day,
and was, in truth, ludicrous to Stephen then. At the head of it was a
little gentleman with red mutton-chop whiskers, hatless, in spite of the
rain beginning to fall. His face was the very caricature of terror. His
clothes, usually neat, were awry, and his arms were full of various
things, not the least conspicuous of which was a magnificent bronze
clock. It was this object that caught Virginia's