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.