'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.