followed.

Virginia remained at the piano, her mood exalted patriotism, uplifted in
spirit by that grand song. At first she had played it with all her might.
Then she sang it. She laughed in very scorn of the booby soldiers she had
seen. A million of these, with all the firearms in the world, could not
prevail against the flower of the South. Then she had begun whimsically
to sing a verse of a song she had heard the week before, and suddenly her
exaltation was fled, and her fingers left the keys. Gaining the window,
trembling, half-expectant, she flung open a blind. The troops, the
people, were gone, and there alone in the road stood--Stephen Brice. The
others close behind her saw him, too, and Puss cried out in her surprise.
The impression, when the room was dark once more, was of sternness and
sadness,--and of strength. Effaced was the picture of the plodding
recruits with their coarse and ill-fitting uniforms of blue.

Virginia shut the blinds. Not a word escaped her, nor could they tell
why--they did not dare to question her then. An hour passed, perhaps two,
before the shrill voice of a boy was heard in the street below.

"Camp Jackson has surrendered!"

They heard the patter of his bare feet on the pavement, and the cry
repeated.

"Camp Jackson has surrendered!"

And so the war began for Virginia. Bitter before, now was she on fire.
Close her lips as tightly as she might, the tears forced themselves to
her eyes. The ignominy of it!