d never
known the woman in her glory.

"Marry a Yankee!" she cried. "Clarence Colfax, have you known and loved
me all my life that you might accuse me of this? Never, never, never!"
Transformed, he looked incredulous admiration.

"Jinny, do you mean it?" he cried.

In answer she bent down with all that gentleness and grace that
was hers, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Long after she had
disappeared in the door he sat staring after her.

But later, when Mammy Easter went to call her mistress for supper, she
found her with her face buried in the pillows.

CHAPTER X. IN JUDGE WHIPPLE'S OFFICE

After this Virginia went to the Judge's bedside every day, in the
morning, when Clarence took his sleep. She read his newspapers to him
when he was well enough. She read the detested Missouri Democrat, which
I think was the greatest trial Virginia ever had to put up with. To have
her beloved South abused, to have her heroes ridiculed, was more than
she could bear. Once, when the Judge was perceptibly better, she flung
the paper out of the window, and left the room. He called her back
penitently.

"My dear," he said, smiling admiration, "forgive an old bear. A selfish
old bear, Jinny; my only excuse is my love for the Union. When you are
not here, I lie in agony, lest she has suffered some mortal blow unknown
to me, Jinny. And if God sees fit to spare our great country, the day
will come when you will go down on your knees and thank Him for the
inheritance which He saved for your children. You are a good woman, my
dear, and a strong one. I have hoped that you will see the right.
That you will marry a great citizen, one unwavering in his service and
devotion to our Republic." The Judge's voice trembled with earnestness
as he spoke. And the gray eyes under the shaggy brows were alight with
the sacred fire of his life's purpose. Undaunted as her spirit was, she
could not answer him then.

Once, only once, he said to her: "Virginia, I loved your father better
than any man I ever knew. Please God I may see him again before I die."

He never spoke of the piano. But sometimes at twilight his eyes would
rest on the black cloth that hid it.

Virginia herself never touched that cloth to her it seemed the shroud
upon a life of happiness that was dead and gone.

Virginia had not been with Judge Whipple during the critical week after
Stephen was brought home. But Anne had told her that his anxiety was
a pitiful thing to