there. He went as the lieutenant
Napoleon, walking about with his hands behind his back and his brows
thoughtfully contracted.

The Indian summer night was mild. It was at tine very height of the
festivities that Dorothy Carvel and Mr. Daniel Boone were making their
way together to the porch when the giant gate-keeper of Kenilworth
Castle came stalking up the steps out of the darkness, brandishing his
club in their faces. Dorothy screamed, and even the doughty Daniel gave
back a step.

"Tom Catherwood! How dare you? You frightened me nearly to death."

"I'm sorry, Jinny, indeed I am," said the giant, repentant, and holding
her hand in his.

"Where have you been?" demanded Virginia, a little mollified. "What
makes you so late?"

"I've been to a Lincoln meeting," said honest Tom; "where I heard a very
fine speech from a friend of yours."

Virginia tossed her head.

"You might have been better employed," said she, and added, with
dignity, "I have no friends who speak at Black Republican meetings."

"How about Judge Whipple?" said Tom.

She stopped. "Did you mean the Judge?" she asked, over her shoulder.

"No," said Tom, "I meant--"

He got no further. Virginia slipped her arm through Clarence's, and they
went off together to the end of the veranda. Poor Tom! He passed on into
the gay drawing-room, but the zest had been taken out of his antics for
that night.

"Whom did he mean, Jinny?" said Clarence, when they were on the seat
under the vines.

"He meant that Yankee, Stephen Brice," answered Virginia, languidly. "I
am so tired of hearing about him."

"So am I," said Clarence, with a fervor by no means false. "By George,
I think he will make a Black Republican out of Tom, if he keeps on.
Puss and Jack have been talking about him all summer, until I am out
of patience. I reckon he has brains. But suppose he has addressed fifty
Lincoln meetings, as they say, is that any reason for making much
of him? I should not have him at Bellegarde. I am surprised that Mr.
Russell allows him in his house. I can see why Anne likes him."

"Why?"

"He is on the Brinsmade charity list."

"He is not on their charity list, nor on any other," said Virginia,
quickly. "Stephen Brice is the last person who would submit to charity."

"And you are the last person who I supposed would stand up for him,"
cried her cousin, surprised and nettled.

There was an instant's silence.

"I want to be fair, Max," she said quietly. "Pa