see, and that it had left him perceptibly weaker.
Certain it was that he was failing fast. So fast that on some days
Virginia, watching him, would send Ned or Shadrach in hot haste for Dr.
Polk.

At noon Anne would relieve Virginia,--Anne or her mother,--and
frequently Mr. Brinsmade would come likewise. For it is those who have
the most to do who find the most time for charitable deeds. As the hour
for their coming drew near, the Judge would be seeking the clock, and
scarce did Anne's figure appear in the doorway before the question had
arisen to his lips--"And how is my young Captain to-day?"

That is what he called him,--"My young Captain." Virginia's choice of
her cousin, and her devotion to him, while seemingly natural enough,
had drawn many a sigh from Anne. She thought it strange that Virginia
herself had never once asked her about Stephen's condition and she spoke
of this one day to the Judge with as much warmth as she was capable of.

"Jinny's heart is like steel where a Yankee is concerned. If her best
friend were a Yankee--"

Judge Whipple checked her, smiling.

"She has been very good to one Yankee I know of," he said. "And as for
Mrs. Brice, I believe she worships her."

"But when I said that Stephen was much better to-day, she swept out of
the room as if she did not care whether he lived or died."

"Well, Anne," the Judge had answered, "you women are a puzzle to me. I
guess you don't understand yourselves," he added.

That was a strange month in the life of Clarence Colfax,--the last
of his recovery, while he was waiting for the news of his exchange.
Bellegarde was never more beautiful, for Mrs. Colfax had no whim of
letting the place run down because a great war was in progress. Though
devoted to the South, she did not consecrate her fortune to it. Clarence
gave as much as he could.

Whole afternoons Virginia and he would sit in the shaded arbor seat;
or at the cool of the day descend to the bench on the lower tier of
the summer garden, to steep, as it were, in the blended perfumes of the
roses and the mignonettes and the pinks. He was soberer than of old.
Often through the night he pondered on the change in her. She, too, was
grave. But he was troubled to analyze her gravity, her dignity. Was this
merely strength of character, the natural result of the trials through
which she had passed, the habit acquired of being the Helper and
comforter instead of the helped and comforted? Long years afterwa