There was a silence.  Then—­ “Move on please, gentlemen,” said the sentry, and they started to walk toward the car line, the lawyer and the Colonel together.  Virginia put her hand through the Captain’s arm.  In the darkness he laid his big one over it.

“Don’t you be frightened, Jinny, at what I said, I reckon they’ll fetch up in Illinois all right, if I know Lyon.  There, there,” said Captain Lige, soothingly.  Virginia was crying softly.  She had endured more in the past few days than often falls to the lot of one-and-twenty.

“There, there, Jinny.”  He felt like crying himself.  He thought of the many, many times he had taken her on his knee and kissed her tears.  He might do that no more, now.  There was the young Captain, a prisoner on the great black river, who had a better right, Elijah Brent wondered, as they waited in the silent street for the lonely car, if Clarence loved her as well as he.

It was vary late when they reached home, and Virginia went silently up to her room.  Colonel Carvel stared grimly after her, then glanced at his friend as he turned down the lights.  The eyes of the two met, as of old, in true understanding.

The sun was still slanting over the tops of the houses the next morning when Virginia, a ghostly figure, crept down the stairs and withdrew the lock and bolt on the front door.  The street was still, save for the twittering of birds and the distant rumble of a cart in its early rounds.  The chill air of the morning made her shiver as she scanned the entry for the newspaper.  Dismayed, she turned to the clock in the hall.  Its hands were at quarter past five.

She sat long behind the curtains in her father’s little library, the thoughts whirling in her brain as she watched the growing life of another day.  What would it bring forth?  Once she stole softly back to the entry, self-indulgent and ashamed, to rehearse again the bitter and the sweet of that scene of the Sunday before.  She summoned up the image of the young man who had stood on these steps in front of the frightened servants.  She seemed to feel again the calm power and earnestness of his face, to hear again the clear-cut tones of his voice as he advised her.  Then she drew back, frightened, into the sombre library, conscience-stricken that she should have yielded to this temptation then, when Clarence—­She dared not follow the thought, but she saw the light skiff at the mercy of the angry river and the dark night.

This had haunted her.  If he were spared, she prayed for strength to consecrate herself to him A book lay on the table, and Virginia took refuge in it.  And her eyes glancing over the pages, rested on this verse:—­

       “Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling drums,
        That beat to battle where he stands;
        Thy face across his fancy comes,
        And gives the battle to his hands.”