“I shall have nothing to do with him,” said Mrs. Baron, pressing her thin lips together.

“Well, well,” ejaculated Mr. Baron, “I suppose I shall have to become meeker than Moses, and kiss every rod that smites me for fear of getting a harsher blow.”

Mrs. Whately felt that it was useless to say anything more, and, as we have seen, joined her niece.

“Lieutenant,” she said, “we owe you an apology, and I freely and frankly offer it.  I fear you think we are making sorry return for your kindness.”

“Mrs. Whately, I appreciate your good intentions, and I can make allowance for the feelings of my host and hostess.  The fine courtesy of Miss Baron would disarm hostility itself, but I assure you that there is no personal hostility on my part to any of you.”

“Well, sir, I must say that I regard it as a very kind ordering of Providence that we have fallen into such hands as yours.”

“I certainly am in no mood to complain,” he replied, laughing.  “Perhaps experience has taught us that we had better ignore our differences.  I was just remarking to Miss Baron on the beauty and peacefulness of the night.  Will you not join us?  We can imagine a flag of truce flying, under which we can be just as good friends as we please.”

“Thank you.  I will join you with pleasure,” and she sat down near her niece.  “Well,” she added, “this is a scene to be remembered.”

Miss Lou looked at Scoville gratefully, for his words and manner had all tended to reassure her.  In her revolt, he showed no disposition to encourage recklessness on her part.  As her mind grew calmer she saw more clearly the course he had tried to define—­that of blended firmness and courtesy to her relatives.  She was so unsophisticated and had been so confused and agitated, that she scarcely knew where to draw the line between simple, right action and indiscretion.  Conscious of her inexperience, inclined to be both timid and reckless in her ignorance and trouble, she began even now to cling, metaphorically, to his strong, sustaining hand.  His very presence produced a sense of restfulness and safety, and when he began to call attention to the scenes and sounds about them she was sufficiently quiet to be appreciative.

Dew sparkled in the grass of the lawn on which the shadows of trees and shrubbery fell motionless.  The air was balmy and sweet with the fragrance of spring flowers.  The mocking-birds were in full ecstatic song, their notes scaling down from bursts of melody to the drollery of all kinds of imitation.  The wounded men on the far end of the piazza were either sleeping or talking in low tones, proving that there was no extremity of suffering.  Off to the left, between them and the negro quarters, were two or three fires, around which the Union soldiers were reclining, some already asleep after the fatigues of the day, others playing cards or spinning yarns, while one, musically inclined, was evoking from a flute an air plaintive and sweet in the distance.  Further away under the trees, shadows in shadow, the horses were dimly seen eating their provender.  The Confederate prisoners, smoking about a fire, appeared to be taking the “horrors of captivity” very quietly and comfortably.  At the quarters they heard the sound of negro-singing, half barbaric in its wildness.