"Yes, Colonel."
He came back, wondering, across the rough stones until he stood beside the tall figure. Below them, the lights glided along the dark water.
"Lige, didn't I raise you? Haven't I taught you that my house was your home? Come back, Lige. But--but never speak to me again of this night! Jinny is waiting for us."
Not a word passed between them as they went up the quiet street. At the sound of their feet in the entry the door was flung open, and Virginia, with her hands out stretched, stood under the hall light.
"Oh, Pa, I knew you would bring him back," she said.
CHAPTER XXIII. OF CLARENCE
Captain Clarence Colfax, late of the State Dragoons, awoke on Sunday morning the chief of the many topics of the conversation of a big city. His conduct drew forth enthusiastic praise from the gentlemen and ladies who had thronged Beauregard and Davis avenues, and honest admiration from the party which had broken up the camp. The boy had behaved well. There were many doting parents, like Mr. Catherwood, whose boys had accepted the parole, whose praise was a trifle lukewarm, to be sure. But popular opinion, when once aroused, will draw a grunt from the most grudging.
We are not permitted, alas, to go behind these stern walls and discover how Captain Colfax passed that eventful Sunday of the Exodus. We know that, in his loneliness, he hoped for a visit from his cousin, and took to pacing his room in the afternoon, when a smarting sense of injustice crept upon him. Clarence was young. And how was he to guess, as he looked out in astonishment upon the frightened flock of white boats swimming southward, that his mother and his sweetheart were there?
On Monday, while the Colonel and many prominent citizens were busying themselves about procuring the legal writ which was at once to release Mr. Colfax, and so cleanse the whole body of Camp Jackson's defenders from any, veiled intentions toward the Government, many well known carriages drew up before the Carvel House in Locust Street to congratulate the widow and the Colonel upon the possession of such a son and nephew. There were some who slyly congratulated Virginia, whose martyrdom it was to sit up with people all the day long. For Mrs. Colfax kept her room, and admitted only a few of her bosom friends to cry with her. When the last of the callers was gone, Virginia was admitted to her aunt's presence.
"Aunt Lillian, to-morrow morning Pa and I are going to the Arsenal with a basket for Max. Pa seems to think there is a chance that he may come back with us. You will go, of course."
The lady smiled wearily at the proposal, and raised her hands in protest, the lace on the sleeves of her dressing gown falling away from her white arms.
"Go, my dear?" she exclaimed, "when I can't walk to my bureau after that terrible Sunday. You are crazy, Jinny. No," she added, with conviction, "I never again expect to see him alive. Comyn says they may release him, does he? Is he turning Yankee, too?"
The girl went away, not in anger or impatience, but in sadness. Brought up to reverence her elders, she had ignored the shallowness of her aunt's character in happier days. But now Mrs. Colfax's conduct carried a prophecy with it. Virginia sat down on the landing to ponder on the years to come,--on the pain they were likely to bring with them from this source--Clarence gone to the war; her father gone (for she felt that he would go in the end), Virginia foresaw the lonely days of trial in company with this vain woman whom accident made her cousin's mother. Ay, and more, fate had made her the mother of the man she was to marry. The girl could scarcely bear the thought--through the hurry and swing of the events of two days she had kept it from her mind.
But now Clarence was to be released. To-morrow he would be coming home to her joyfully for his reward, and she did not love him. She was bound to face that again and again. She had cheated herself again and again with other feelings. She had set up intense love of country in the shrine where it did not belong, and it had answered--for a while. She saw Clarence in a hero's light--until a fatal intimate knowledge made her shudder and draw back. And yet her resolution should not be water. She would carry it through.
Captain Lige's cheery voice roused her from below--and her father's laugh. And as she went down to them she thanked God that this friend had been spared to him. Never had the Captain's river yarns been better told than at the table that evening. Virginia did not see him glance at the Colonel when at last he had brought a smile to her face.
"I'm going to leave Jinny with you, Lige," said Mr. Carvel, presently. "Worington has some notion that the Marshal may go to the Arsenal to-night with the writ. I mustn't neglect the boy."
Virginia stood in front of him. "Won't you let me go?" she pleaded
The Colonel was taken aback. He stood looking down at her, stroking his goatee, and marvelling at the ways of woman.
"The horses have been out all day, Jinny," he said, "I am going in the cars."
"I can go in the cars, too."
The Colonel looked at Captain Lige.
"There is only a chance that we shall see Clarence," he went on, uneasily.
"It is better than sitting still," cried Virginia, as she ran away to get the bonnet with the red strings.
"Lige,--" said the Colonel, as the two stood awaiting her in the hall, "I can't make her out. Can you?"
The Captain did not answer.
It was a long journey, in a bumping car with had springs that rattled unceasingly, past the string of provost guards. The Colonel sat in the corner, with his head bent down over his stick At length, cramped and weary, they got out, and made their way along the Arsenal wall, past the sentries to the entrance. The sergeant brought his rifle to a "port".
"Commandant's orders, sir. No one admitted," he said.
"Is Captain Colfax here?" asked Mr. Carver
"Captain Colfax was taken to Illinois in a skiff, quarter of an hour since."
Captain Lige gave vent to a long, low whistle.
"A skiff!" he exclaimed, "and the river this high! A skiff!"
Virginia clasped his arm in terror. "Is there danger?"
Before he could answer came the noise of steps from the direction of the river, and a number of people hurried up excitedly. Colonel Carvel recognized Mr. Worington, the lawyer, and caught him by the sleeve.
"Anything happened?" he demanded.
Worington glanced at the sentry, and pulled the Colonel past the entrance and into the street. Virginia and Captain Lige followed.
"They have started across with him in a light skiff----four men and a captain. The young fool! We had him rescued."
"Rescued!"
"Yes. There were but five in the guard. And a lot of us, who suspected what they were up to, were standing around. When we saw 'em come down, we made a rush and had the guard overpowered But Colfax called out to stand back."
"Well, sir."
"Cuss me if I understand him," said Mr. Worington. "He told us to disperse, and that he proposed to remain a prisoner and go where they sent him."
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,