ssionate
over its myriad rocks, around its thousand islets. There were odours of
flowers; somewhere there was jasmine. White moths came in at the window,
and Judith, rising, put glass candle-shades over the candles. She sat
brushing her long hair; fevered with the city's fever, she saw not
herself in the glass, but all the stress that had been and the stress
that was to be. Cleave's latest letter had rested in the bosom of her
dress; now the thin oblong of bluish paper lay before her on the
dressing table. The river grew louder, the wind from the south stirred
the masses of her hair, the jasmine odour deepened. She bent forward,
spreading her white arms over the dark and smooth mahogany, drooped her
head upon them, rested lip and cheek against the paper. The sound of the
warrior city, the river and the wind, beat out a rhythm in the
white-walled room. _Love--Death! Love--Death! Dear Love--Dark
Death--Eternal Love_--She rose, laid the letter with others from him in
an old sandalwood box, coiled her hair and quickly dressed. A little
later, descending, she found awaiting her, in the old, formal, quaint
parlour, Fauquier Cary.

The two met with warm affection. Younger by much than was the master of
Greenwood, he was to the latter's children like one of their own
generation, an elder brother only. He held her from him and looked at
her. "You are a lovely woman, Judith! Did it run the blockade?"

Judith laughed: "No! I wear nothing that comes that way. It is an old
dress, and it is fortunate that Easter darns so exquisitely!"

"Warwick will meet us at the house. We both ride back before dawn. Why,
I have not seen you since last summer!"

"No. Just before Manassas!"

They went out. "I should have brought a carriage for you. But they are
hard to get--"

"I would rather walk. It is not far. You look for the battle to-morrow?"

"That depends, I imagine, on Jackson. Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the
next day. It will be bloody fighting when it comes--Heigho!"

"The bricks of the pavement know that," said Judith. "Sometimes,
Fauquier, you can see horror on the faces of these houses--just as
plain! and at night I hear the river reading the bulletin!"

"Poor child!--Yes, we make all nature a partner. Judith, I was glad to
hear of Richard Cleave's happiness--as glad as I was surprised. Why, I
hardly know, and yet I had it firmly in mind that it was Maury
Stafford--"

Judith spoke in a pained voice. "I cannot imagine why so m