he 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 cry
repe