He said nothing to that. Virginia got up, and went softly around the
table. She leaned over his shoulder. "Pa!"

"Yes," he said, his voice lifeless.

But her courage was not to be lightly shaken. "Pa, will you forbid him to
come here--now?"

A long while she waited for his answer, while the big clock ticked out
the slow seconds in the hall, and her heart beat wildly.

"No," said the Colonel. "As long as I have a roof, Lige may come under
it."

He rose abruptly and seized his bat. She did not ask him where he was
going, but ordered Jackson to keep the supper warm, and went into the
drawing-room. The lights were out, then, but the great piano that was her
mother's lay open. Her fingers fell upon the keys. That wondrous hymn
which Judge Whipple loved, which for years has been the comfort of those
in distress, floated softly with the night air out of the open window. It
was "Lead, Kindly Light." Colonel Carvel heard it, and paused.

Shall we follow him?

He did not stop again until he reached the narrow street at the top of
the levee bank, where the quaint stone houses of the old French residents
were being loaded with wares. He took a few steps back-up the hill. Then
he wheeled about, walked swiftly down the levee, and on to the
landing-stage beside which the big 'Juanita' loomed in the night. On her
bows was set, fantastically, a yellow street-car.