Colonel Carvel had made but a light breakfast: he had had no dinner, and
little rest on the train. But he answered his sister-in-law with
unfailing courtesy. He was too honest to express a hope which he did not
feel. He had returned that evening to a dreary household. During the day
the servants had straggled in from Bellegarde, and Virginia had had
prepared those dishes which her father loved. Mrs. Colfax chose to keep
her room, for which the two were silently thankful. Jackson announced
supper. The Colonel was humming a tune as he went down the stairs, but
Virginia was not deceived. He would not see the yearning in her eyes as
he took his chair; he would not glance at Captain Lige's empty seat. It
was because he did not dare. She caught her breath when she saw that the
food on his plate lay untouched.

"Pa, are you ill?" she faltered.

He pushed his chair away, such suffering in his look as she had never
seen.

"Jinny," he said, "I reckon Lige is for the Yankees."

"I have known it all along," she said, but faintly.

"Did he tell you?" her father demanded. "No."

"My God," cried the Colonel, in agony, "to think that he kept it from me
I to think that Lige kept it from me!"

"It is because he loves you, Pa," answered the girl, gently, "it is
because he loves us."