what her farewell would be, but none mentioned the thought.  As Phil came into view at the first landing, he sent a quick glance among us to see if she was there.  For a moment his face was struck into a sadly forlorn expression; but, as if by chance, she came out of the larger parlour at that moment, and his countenance revived almost into hope.  The rest of us had already said our good-byes to Mr. Cornelius, who now stood waiting for Philip.  As the latter reached the foot of the stairs, Margaret suddenly turned to the pedagogue, to add her civility to ours, for she had always liked the bashful fellow, and his joining the rebels was to her a matter of indifference—­it did not in any way affect her own pleasure.  This movement on her part made it natural that Philip’s first leave-taking should be of Mr. Faringfield, who, seeing Margaret occupied, went forward and grasped Phil’s hand.

“God bless thee, lad,” said he, showing the depth of his feelings as much by a tenderness very odd in so cold a man, as by reverting to the old pronoun now becoming obsolete except with Quakers, “and bring thee safe out of it all, and make thy cause victorious!”

“Good-bye, Philip,” said Mrs. Faringfield, with some betrayal of affection, “and heaven bring you back to us!”

Fanny’s farewell, though spoken with a voice more tremulous and eyes more humid, was in the same strain; and so was that of my mother, though she could not refrain from adding, “Tis such a pity!” and wishing that so handsome a soldier was on the right side.

“Good-bye and good luck, dear old Phil!” was all that Tom said.

“And so say I,” I put in, taking his hand in my turn, and trying not to show my discomposure, “meaning to yourself, but not to your cause.  Well—­dear lad—­heaven guard you, and give you a speedy return!  For your sake and ours, may the whole thing be over before your campaign is begun.  I should like to see a war, and be in one—­but not a war like this, that makes enemies of you and me.  Good-bye, Phil—­and come back safe and sound.”

’Twas Margaret’s time now, for Ned was not present.  There was a pause, as Phil turned questioningly—­nay wistfully—­toward her.  She met his look calmly.  Old Noah and some of the negroes, who had pressed forward to see Phil’s departure from the house, were waiting for her to speak, that they might afterward call out their Godspeed.

“Good-bye!” she said, at last, holding out her hand indifferently.

He took the hand, bent over it, pressed it with his lips.  Then he looked at her again.  I think she must have shown just the slightest yielding, given just the least permission, in her eyes; for he went nearer, and putting his arm around her, gently drew her close to him, and looked down at her.  Suddenly she turned her face up, and pursed her lips.  With a look of gladness, he passionately kissed her.

“God bless you, my dear wife,” he whispered; and then, as if by expecting more he might court a disappointment to mar the memory of that leave-taking, he released her, and said to us all:  “Take care of her, I pray!” whereupon, abruptly turning, he hastened out of the open door, waving back his hat in response to our chorus of good-byes, and the loud “Go’ bless you, Massa Philip!” of the negroes.