“You needn’t take much credit for that, sir, since Vincent probably had my portrait in all his coat-pockets and his room frescoed with them—­it’s a trick of his.  So you needn’t pretend that it was family likeness—­I know better.  Vincent has all the good looks of the family, and I have all the good qualities.”

“That’s why you’ve come to console the afflicted?”

“Yes, duty—­you know how disagreeable that is.  Vincent declared he would come himself, if I didn’t, and mamma wouldn’t hear of your being moved by servants alone, so I am here.  But I give you fair warning that I am a rebel of the most ferocious sort.  You shall ride under the ’bonnie blue flag’ to Rosedale, and you shall salute our flag every morning when it is hoisted.”

“I am the most docile of men and the easiest of invalids.  I will ride under Captain Kidd’s flag and salute the standard of the Grand Turk, to be near Vincent just now.”

When Rosalind’s colored aids had placed him in the big family carriage, and he had bidden Mrs. Raines farewell, the young lady resumed:  “Ah, I know you!  Vincent has told me about your Yankee ways.  Not another word, sir.  I’ll act as guide, and tell you all we see of note as we go on.  There where your eyes are resting now is the Confederate Hall of Independence; that modest house on the corner is President Davis’s.  We are going to build him another by and by—­after we capture Washington and get our belongings—­no—­no—­you needn’t speak.  I know what you want to say.  That’s Washington’s monument, and there is our dear old Jefferson.  Doesn’t it quicken even your slow Yankee blood to pass the walls that heard Jefferson at his greatest, that held Patrick Henry, that covered Washington?  Ah! if you Northern Pharisees were not money-grubbers and souless to everything but the almighty dollar, you would join hands with us in creating our new Confederacy.  Yes, sir, you’re my prisoner.  We shall see that one Yankee is kept out of mischief—­if the war lasts—­which is not likely, as your folks are quite cowed by the victory at Bull Run.  Wasn’t it a splendid fight?  I shall never forgive Vin for not letting me know it was coming off.  Vin, you know, is on General Early’s staff.  He knew two days before that there was to be a fight, for he started from Winchester to keep the railway clear and lead the troops to the Henry House when they got off the cars.  He was in the thickest of the fight, near Professor Jackson—­Stonewall, they call him now.  He—­Vin—­had three horses killed, and was made a major on the field by General Joe Johnston.  What?——­”

“Please let the carriage stop a moment.  I want to absorb that lovely view.”

He pointed to the James, debouching from the hills over which the carriage was slowly rolling.  The afternoon sun was behind them; but far, far to the eastward the noble river wound through masses of dark, deep green until it was lost in a glow of shimmering mirage in the low horizon.