itted very rapidly, her
eyes now upon her nephew, now upon her father's portrait. Judith, rising
from the old cross-stitch tabouret where she had been sitting, laid a
fresh log on the fire, then went and stood beside the long window,
looking out upon the rainy night.

"What," asked Edward between two chords, "what do you hear from the
Valley?"

Unity answered: "General Banks has crossed the Potomac and entered
Winchester--poor, poor Winchester! General Jackson hasn't quite five
thousand men. He has withdrawn toward Woodstock. In spite of that
dreadful Romney march, General Johnston and the soldiers seem to have
confidence in him--"

Molly came in with her soft little voice. "Major Stafford has been
transferred. He is with General Ewell on the Rappahannock. He writes to
Judith every week. They are beautiful letters--they make you see
everything that is done."

"What do you hear from Richard Cleave?"

"He never writes."

Judith came back from the window. "It is raining, raining! The petals
are falling from the pyrus japonica, and all the trees are bending!
Edward, war is terrible, but it lifts you up...." She locked her hands
behind her head. "It lifts you up, out in the storm or listening to what
the ships have done, or to the stories that are told! And then you look
at the unploughed land, and you wait for the bulletins, and you go to
the hospital down there, ... and you say, 'Never--oh, nevermore let us
have war!'"

CHAPTER XV

KERNSTOWN

The brigade was halted before a stretch of forest white with dogwood.
Ahead began a slow cannonade. Puffs of smoke rose above the hill that
hid the iron combatants. "Ashby's Horse Artillery," said the men.
"That's the Blakeley now! Boys, I reckon we're in for it!"

An aide passed at a gallop. "Shields and nine thousand men. Ashby was
misinformed--more than we thought--Shields and nine thousand men."

Along the line the soldiers slightly moved their feet, moistened their
lips. The 65th occupied a fairy dell where Quaker ladies, blue as the
heavens, bloomed by every stone. A Federal battery opened from a hill to
the right. A screaming shell entered the wood, dug into earth, and
exploded, showering all around with mould. There came a great burst of
music--the Northern bands playing as the regiments deployed. "That's
'Yankee Doodle!'" said the men. "Everybody's cartridge-box full? Johnny
Lemon, don't you forgit to take your ramrod out before you fire!"

The colone