Virginia did not answer, but reached out for her father’s hand and held its fingers locked tight in her own.  From the kitchen the sound of Ned’s voice rose in the still evening air.

     “Sposin’ I was to go to N’ Orleans an’ take sick and die,
     Laik a bird into de country ma spirit would fly.”

And after a while down the path the red and yellow of Mammy Easter’s bandanna was seen.

“Supper, Miss Jinny.  Laws, if I ain’t ramshacked de premises fo’ you bof.  De co’n bread’s gittin’ cold.”

That evening the Colonel and Virginia thrust a few things into her little leather bag they had chosen together in London.  Virginia had found a cigar, which she hid until they went down to the porch, and there she gave it to him; when he lighted the match she saw that his hand shook.

Half an hour later he held her in his arms at the gate, and she heard his firm tread die in the dust of the road.  The South had claimed him at last.