e. 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