“When he comes,” said Colonel Arran slowly, “will you have the kindness to say to him that Colonel Arran will be glad to renew the acquaintance?”

“Yes. . . .  Perhaps he has forgotten the street and number.  I might write to him—­to remind him?” Colonel Arran made no answer.

She wrote that night: 

“DEAR MR. BERKLEY: 

“I am in my own house now and am very contented—­which does not mean that I did not adore being with Celia Craig and Estcourt and the children.

“But home is pleasant, and I am wondering whether you might care to see the home of which I have so often spoken to you when you used to come over to Brooklyn to see me [me erased and us neatly substituted in long, sweeping characters].

“I have been doing very little since I last saw you—­it is not sheer idleness, but somehow one cannot go light-heartedly to dinners and concerts and theatres in times like these, when traitors are trampling the nag under foot, and when thousands and thousands of young men are leaving the city every day to go to the defence of our distracted country.

“I saw a friend the other day—­a Mrs. Wells—­and three of her boys, friends of mine, have gone with the 7th, and she is so nervous and excited that she can scarcely speak about it. So many men I know have gone or are going.  Stephen was here yesterday, wild to go with the 8d Zouaves, but I promised his father to use my influence—­and he is too young—­although it is very fine and chivalrous of him to wish to go.

“I thought I would write you a little note, to remind you that I am at home, and already it has become a letter.  Please remember—­when you think of it at all—­that it would give me pleasure to receive you.

“Sincerely yours,

“AILSA PAIGE.”

Toward the end of the week she received a heart-broken note from Celia Craig, which caused her to hasten over to Brooklyn.  She arrived late; the streets were continually blocked by departing troops, and the omnibus took a circuitous course to the ferry, going by way of Fourth Avenue and the Bowery.

“Honey-bee!  O Honey-bell!” whispered her sister-in-law, taking Ailsa into her arms, “I could have behaved myse’f better if Curt were on the side of God and Justice!—­But to have to let him go this way—­to know the awful danger—­to know he is going against my own people, my own home—­against God and the Right!—­O Honey-bird!  Honey-bud!  And the Charleston Mercury says that the South is most bitter against the Zouaves——­”

“Curt!  With the Zouaves!”

“Oh yes, yes, Honey-bee!  The Third Regiment.  And he—­some wicked old men came here yesterday and read a speech—­right befo’ me—­here in this ve’y room—­and began to say that they wished him to be colonel of the 3d Zouaves, and that the Governor wished it and—­other fools!  And I rose straight up f’om my chair and I said, ‘Curt!’ And he gave me one look.  Oh, Honey-bud!  His face was changed; there was that same thing in it that I saw the night the news came about Sumter!  And he said:  ’Gentlemen, my country educated me; now it honours me.’  And I tried to speak again and my lips were stiff; and then he said:  ’I accept the command you offer——­’”