was a dismal tea at Colonel Carvel's house in Locust Street that evening Virginia did not touch a mouthful, and the Colonel merely made a pretence of eating. About six o'clock Mrs. Addison Colfax had driven in from Bellegarde, nor could it rain fast enough or hard enough to wash the foam from her panting horses. She did not wait for Jackson to come out with an umbrella, but rushed through the wet from the carriage to the door in her haste to urge the Colonel to go to the Arsenal and demand Clarence's release. It was in vain that Mr. Carvel assured her it would do no good, in vain that he told her of a more important matter that claimed him. Could there be a more important matter than his own nephew kept in durance, and in danger of being murdered by Dutch butchers in the frenzy of their victory? Mrs. Colfax shut herself up in her room, and through the door Virginia heard her sobs as she went down to tea.
The Colonel made no secret of his uneasiness. With his hat on his head, and his hands in his pockets, he paced up and down the room. He let his cigar go out,--a more serious sign still. Finally he stood with his face to the black window, against which the big drops were beating in a fury.
Virginia sat expressionless at the head of the table, still in that gown of white and crimson, which she had worn in honor of the defenders of the state. Expressionless, save for a glance of solicitation at her father's back. If resolve were feminine, Virginia might have sat for that portrait. There was a light in her dark blue eyes. Underneath there were traces of the day's fatigue. When she spoke, there was little life in her voice.
"Aren't you going to the Planters' House, Pa The Colonel turned, and tried to smile.
"I reckon not to-night, Jinny. Why?"
"To find out what they are going to do with Clarence," she said indignantly.
"I reckon they don't know at the Planters' House," he said.
"Then--" began Virginia, and stopped.
"Then what?" he asked, stroking her hair.
"Then why not go to the Barracks? Order the carriage, and I will go with you."
His smile faded. He stood looking down at her fixedly, as was sometimes his habit. Grave tenderness was in his tone.
"Jinny," he said slowly, "Jinny, do you mean to marry Clarence?"
The suddenness of the question took her breath. But she answered steadily:
"Yes."
"Do you love him?
"Yes," she answered. But her lashes fell.
Still he stood, and it seemed to her that her father's gaze pierced to her secret soul.
"Come here, my dear," he said.
He held out his arms, and she fluttered into them. The tears were come at last. It was not the first time she had cried out her troubles against that great heart which had ever been her strong refuge. From childhood she had been comforted there. Had she broken her doll, had Mammy Easter been cross, had lessons gone wrong at school, was she ill, or weary with that heaviness of spirit which is woman's inevitable lot,--this was her sanctuary. But now! This burden God Himself had sent, and none save her Heavenly Father might cure it. Through his great love for her it was given to Colonel Carvel to divine it--only vaguely.
Many times he strove to speak, and could not. But presently, as if ashamed of her tears, she drew back from him and took her old seat on the arm of his chair.
By the light of his intuition, the Colonel chose tins words well. What he had to speak of was another sorrow, yet a healing one.
"You must not think of marriage now, my dear, when the bread we eat may fail us. Jinny, we are not as rich as we used to be. Our trade was in the South and West, and now the South and West cannot pay. I had a conference with Mr. Hopper yesterday, and he tells me that we must be prepared."
She laid her hand upon his.
"And did you think I would care, dear?" she asked gently. "I can bear with poverty and rags, to win this war."
"His own eyes were dim, but pride shone in them. Jackson came in on tiptoe, and hesitated. At the Colonel's motion he took away the china and the silver, and removed the white cloth, and turned low the lights in the chandelier. He went out softly, and closed the door.
"Pa," said Virginia, presently, "do you trust Mr. Hopper?"
The Colonel gave a start.
"Why, yes, Jinny. He improved the business greatly before this trouble came. And even now we are not in such straits as some other houses."
"Captain Lige doesn't like him."
"Lige has prejudices."
"So have I," said Virginia. "Eliphalet Hopper will serve you so long as he serves himself. No longer."
"I think you do him an injustice, my dear," answered the Colonel. But uneasiness was in his voice. "Hopper is hard working, scrupulous to a cent. He owns two slaves now who are running the river. He keeps out of politics, and he has none of the Yankee faults."
"I wish he had," said Virginia.
The Colonel made no answer to this. Getting up, he went over to the bell-cord at the door and pulled it. Jackson came in hurriedly.
"Is my bag packed?"
"Yes, Marsa."
"Where are you going?" cried Virginia, in alarm.
"To Jefferson City, dear, to see the Governor. I got word this afternoon."
"In the rain?"
He smiled, and stooped to kiss her.
"Yes," he answered, "in the rain as far as the depot, I can trust you, Jinny. And Lige's boat will be back from New Orleans to-morrow or Sunday."
The next morning the city awoke benumbed, her heart beating but feebly. Her commerce had nearly ceased to flow. A long line of boats lay idle, with noses to the levee. Men stood on the street corners in the rain, reading of the capture of Camp Jackson, and of the riot, and thousands lifted up their voices to execrate the Foreign City below Market Street. A vague terror, maliciously born, subtly spread. The Dutch had broken up the camp, a peaceable state institution, they had shot down innocent women and children. What might they not do to the defenceless city under their victorious hand, whose citizens were nobly loyal to the South? Sack it? Yes, and burn, and loot it. Ladies who ventured out that day crossed the street to avoid Union gentlemen of their acquaintance.
It was early when Mammy Easter brought the news paper to her mistress. Virginia read the news, and ran joyfully to her aunt's room. Three times she knocked, and then she heard a cry within. Then the key was turned and the bolt cautiously withdrawn, and a crack of six inches disclosed her aunt.
"Oh, how you frightened me, Jinny!" she cried. "I thought it was the Dutch coming to murder us all, What have they done to Clarence?"
"We shall see him to-day, Aunt Lillian," was the joyful answer. "The newspaper says that all the Camp Jackson prisoners are to be set free to-day, on parole. Oh, I knew they would not dare to hold them. The whole state would have risen to their rescue."
Mrs. Colfax did not receive these tidings with transports. She permitted her niece to come into her room, and then: sank into a chair before the mirror of her dressing-table, and scanned her face there.
"I could not sleep a wink, Jinny, all night long.