closed and dark. In the windows and on the steps of others women are
crying or waving handkerchiefs and calling out to the prisoners, some of
whom are gay, and others sullen. A distracted father tries to break
through the ranks and rescue his son. Ah, here is the Catherwood house.
That is open. Mrs. Catherwood, with her hand on her husband's arm, with
red eyes, is scanning those faces for the sight of George.

Will he ever come back to her? Will the Yankees murder him for treason,
or send him North to languish the rest of his life? No, she will not go
inside. She must see him. She will not faint, though Mrs. James has,
across the street, and is even now being carried into the house. Few of
us can see into the hearts of those women that day, and speak of the
suffering there.

Near the head of Mr. Blair's regiment is Tom. His face is cast down as he
passes the house from which he is banished. Nor do father, or mother, or
sister in their agony make any sound or sign. George is coming. The
welcome and the mourning and the tears are all for him.

The band is playing "Dixie" once more. George is coming, and some one
else. The girls are standing in a knot bend the old people, dry-eyed,
their handkerchiefs in their hands. Some of the prisoners take off their
hats and smile at the young lady with the chiselled features and brown
hair, who wears the red and white of the South as if she were born to
them. Her eyes are searching. Ah, at last she sees him, walking erect at
the head of his dragoons. He gives her one look of entreaty, and that
smile which should have won her heart long ago. As if by common consent
the heads of the troopers are uncovered before her. How bravely she waves
at them until they are gone down the street! Then only do her eyes fill
with tears, and she passes into the house.