is only a malicious rumor, Miss Carvel," he answered. "You have been told so upon good authority, I suppose," she said dryly. And at the change in her tone she saw his face fall.
"I have not," he replied honestly, "but I will submit it to your own judgment. Yesterday General Harney superseded Captain Lyon in command in St. Louis. Some citizens of prominence begged the General to send the troops away, to avoid further ill-feeling and perhaps--bloodshed." (They both winced at the word.) "Colonel Blair represented to the General that the troops could not be sent away, as they had been enlisted to serve only in St. Louis; whereupon the General in his proclamation states that he has no control over these Home Guards. That sentence has been twisted by some rascal into a confession that the Home Guards are not to be controlled. I can assure you, Miss Carvel," added Stephen, speaking with a force which made her start and thrill, "I can assure you from a personal knowledge of the German troops that they are not a riotous lot, and that they are under perfect control. If they were not, there are enough regulars in the city to repress them."
He paused. And she was silent, forgetful of the hub-bub around her. It was then that her aunt called out to her, with distressing shrillness, from the carriage:-- "Jinny, Jinny, how can you stand there talking to young men when our lives are in danger?"
She glanced hurriedly at Stephen, who said gently; "I do not wish to delay you, Miss Carvel, if you are bent upon going."
She wavered. His tone was not resentful, simply quiet. Ephum turned the corner of the street, the perspiration running on his black face.
"Miss Jinny, dey ain't no carridges to be had in this town. No'm, not for fifty dollars."
This was the occasion for another groan from the negroes, and they began once more to beseech her not to leave them. In the midst of their cries she heard her aunt calling from the carriage, where, beside the trunk, there was just room for her to squeeze in.
"Jinny," cried that lady, frantically, "are you to go or stay? The Hessians will be here at any moment. Oh, I cannot stay here to be murdered!"
Unconsciously the girl glanced again at Stephen. He had not gone, but was still standing in the rain on the steps, the one figure of strength and coolness she had seen this afternoon. Distracted, she blamed the fate which had made this man an enemy. How willingly would she have leaned upon such as he, and submitted to his guidance. Unluckily at that moment came down the street a group which had been ludicrous on any other day, and was, in truth, ludicrous to Stephen then. At the head of it was a little gentleman with red mutton-chop whiskers, hatless, in spite of the rain beginning to fall. His face was the very caricature of terror. His clothes, usually neat, were awry, and his arms were full of various things, not the least conspicuous of which was a magnificent bronze clock. It was this object that caught Virginia's eye. But years passed before she laughed over it. Behind Mr. Cluyme (for it was he) trotted his family. Mrs. Cluyme, in a pink wrapper, carried an armful of the family silver; then came Belle with certain articles of feminine apparel which need not be enumerated, and the three small Cluymes of various ages brought up the rear.
Mr. Cluyme, at the top of his speed, was come opposite to the carriage when the lady occupant got out of it. Clutching at his sleeve, she demanded where he was going. The bronze clock had a narrow escape.
"To the river," he gasped. "To the river, madame!" His wife coming after him had a narrower escape still. Mrs. Colfax retained a handful of lace from the wrapper, the owner of which emitted a shriek of fright.
"Virginia, I am going to the river," said Mrs. Colfax. "You may go where you choose. I shall send the carriage back for you. Ned, to the levee!" Ned did not lift a rein.
"What, you black rascal! You won't obey me?"
Ned swung on his seat. "No, indeedy, Miss Lilly, I ain't a-gwine 'thout young Miss. The Dutch kin cotch me an' hang me, but I ain't a-gwine 'thout Miss Jinny."
Mrs. Colfax drew her shawl about her shoulders with dignity.
"Very well, Virginia," she said. "Ill as I am, I shall walk. Bear witness that I have spent a precious hour trying to save you. If I live to see your father again, I shall tell him that you preferred to stay here and carry on disgracefully with a Yankee, that you let your own aunt risk her life alone in the rain. Come, Susan!"
Virginia was very pale. She did not run down the steps, but she caught her aunt by the arm ere that lady had taken six paces. The girl's face frightened Mrs. Colfax into submission, and she let herself be led back into the carriage beside the trunk. Those words of Mrs. Colfax's stung Stephen to righteous anger and resentment--for Virginia.
As to himself, he had looked for insult. He turned to go that he might not look upon her confusion; and hanging on the resolution, swung on his heel again, his eyes blazeing. He saw in hers the deep blue light of the skies after an evening's storm. She was calm, and save for a little quiver of the voice, mistress of herself as she spoke to the group of cowering servants.
"Mammy," she said, "get up on the box with Ned. And, Ned, walk the horses to the levee, so that the rest may follow. Ephum, you stay here with the house, and I will send Ned back to keep you company."
With these words, clasping tightly the precious little bundle under her arm, she stepped into the carriage. Heedless of the risk he ran, sheer admiration sent Stephen to the carriage door.
"If I can be of any service, Miss Carvel," he said, "I shall be happy."
She glanced at him wildly.
"No," she cried, "no. Drive on, Ned!"
And as the horses slipped and started she slammed the door in his face.
Down on the levee wheels rattled over the white stones washed clean by the driving rain. The drops pelted the chocolate water into froth, and a blue veil hid the distant bluffs beyond the Illinois bottom-lands. Down on the Levee rich and poor battled for places on the landing-stages, and would have thrown themselves into the flood had there been no boats to save them from the dreaded Dutch. Attila and his Huns were not more feared. Oh, the mystery of that foreign city! What might not its Barbarians do when roused? The rich and poor struggled together; but money was a power that day, and many were pitilessly turned off because they did not have the high price to carry them--who knew where?
Boats which screamed, and boats which had a dragon's roar were backing out of the close ranks where they had stood wheel-house to wheel-house, and were dodging and bumping in the channel. See, their guards are black with people! Mrs. Colfax, when they are come out of the narrow street into the great open space, remarks this with alarm. All the boats will be gone before they can get near one. But Virginia does not answer. She is thinking of other things than the steamboats, and wondering whether it had not been preferable to be killed by Hessians.
Ned spies the 'Barbara Lane'. He knows that her captain, Mr. Vance, is a friend of the family. What a mighty contempt did Ned and his kind have for foot passengers! Laying about him with his whip, and shouting at the top of his voice to make himself heard, he sent the Colonel's Kentucky bays through the crowd down to the Barbara's landing stage, the people scampering to the right and left, and the Carvel servants, headed by Uncle Ben, hanging on to the carriage springs, trailing behind.
Here was a triumph for Ned, indeed! He will tell you to this day how Mr. Catherwood's carriage was pocketed by drays and bales, and how Mrs. James's horses were seized by the bridles and turned back. Ned had a head on his shoulders, and eyes in his head. He spied Captain Vance himself on the stage, and bade Uncle Ben hold to the horses while he shouldered his way to that gentleman. The result was that the Captain came bowing to the carriage door, and offered his own cabin to the ladies. But the niggers---he would take no niggers except a maid for each; and he begged Mrs. Colfax's pardon--he could not carry her trunk.
So