He turned away, and leaning across the rail, stared at the high bluffs, red-bronzed by the autumn sun.  A score of miles beyond that precipice was a long low building of stone, surrounded by spreading trees,—­the school for young ladies, celebrated throughout the West, where our mothers and grandmothers were taught,—­Monticello.  Hither Miss Virginia Carvel had gone, some thirty days since, for her second winter.

Perhaps Stephen guessed the thought in the mind of his companion, for he stared also.  The music in the cabin came to an abrupt pause, and only the tumbling of waters through the planks of the great wheels broke the silence.  They were both startled by laughter at their shoulders.  There stood Miss Russell, the picture of merriment, her arm locked in Anne Brinsmade’s.

“It is the hour when all devout worshippers turn towards the East,” she said.  “The goddess is enshrined at Monticello.”

Both young men, as they got to their feet, were crimson.  Whereupon Miss Russell laughed again.  Anne, however, blushed for them.  But this was not the first time Miss Russell had gone too far.  Young Mr. Colfax, with the excess of manner which was his at such times, excused himself and left abruptly.  This to the further embarrassment of Stephen and Anne, and the keener enjoyment of Miss Russell.

“Was I not right, Mr. Brice?” she demanded.  “Why, you are even writing verses to her!”

“I scarcely know Miss Carvel,” he said, recovering.  “And as for writing verse—­”

“You never did such a thing in your life!  I can well believe it.”

Miss Russell made a face in the direction Colfax had taken.

“He always acts like that when you mention her,” she said.

“But you are so cruel, Puss,” said Anne.  “You can’t blame him.”

“Hairpins!” said Miss Russell.

“Isn’t she to marry him?” said Stephen, in his natural voice.

He remembered his pronouns too late.

“That has been the way of the world ever since Adam and Eve,” remarked Puss.  “I suppose you meant to ask:  Mr. Brice, whether Clarence is to marry Virginia Carvel.”

Anne nudged her.

“My dear, what will Mr. Brice think of us?”

“Listen, Mr. Brice,” Puss continued, undaunted.  “I shall tell you some gossip.  Virginia was sent to Monticello, and went with her father to Kentucky and Pennsylvania this summer, that she might be away from Clarence.  Colfax.”

“Oh, Puss!” cried Anne.

Miss Russell paid not the slightest heed.

“Colonel Carvel is right,” she went on.  “I should do the same thing.  They are first cousins, and the Colonel doesn’t like that.  I am fond of Clarence.  But he isn’t good for anything in the world except horse racing and—­and fighting.  He wanted to help drive the Black Republican emigrants out of Kansas, and his mother had to put a collar and chain on him.  He wanted to go filibustering with Walker, and she had to get down on her knees.  And yet,” she cried, “if you Yankees push us as far as war, Mr. Brice, just look out for him.”