“It was a horrible mistake, Max,” she faltered.  “I was waiting for you down the road, and stopped his horse instead.  It—­it was nothing—­”

“It was fate, Jinny.  In that half-hour I lost you.  How I hated that man,” he cried, “how I hated him?”

“Hated!” exclaimed Virginia, involuntarily.  “Oh, no!”

“Yes,” he said, “hated!  I would have killed him if I could.  But now—­”

“But now?”

“Now he has saved my life.  I have not—­I could not tell you before:  He came into the place where I was lying in Vicksburg, and they told him that my only chance was to come North, I turned my back upon him, insulted him.  Yet he went to Sherman and had me brought home—­to you, Virginia.  If he loves you,—­and I have long suspected that he does—­”

“Oh, no,” she cried, hiding her face “No.”

“I know he loves you, Jinny,” her cousin continued calmly, inexorably.  “And you know that he does.  You must feel that he does.  It was a brave thing to do, and a generous.  He knew that you were engaged to me.  He thought that he was saving me for you.  He was giving up the hope of marrying you himself.”

Virginia sprang to her feet.  Unless you had seen her then, you had never known the woman in her glory.

“Marry a Yankee!” she cried.  “Clarence Colfax, have you known and loved me all my life that you might accuse me of this?  Never, never, never!” Transformed, he looked incredulous admiration.

“Jinny, do you mean it?” he cried.

In answer she bent down with all that gentleness and grace that was hers, and pressed her lips to his forehead.  Long after she had disappeared in the door he sat staring after her.

But later, when Mammy Easter went to call her mistress for supper, she found her with her face buried in the pillows.

CHAPTER X

IN JUDGE WHIPPLE’S OFFICE

After this Virginia went to the Judge’s bedside every day, in the morning, when Clarence took his sleep.  She read his newspapers to him when he was well enough.  She read the detested Missouri Democrat, which I think was the greatest trial Virginia ever had to put up with.  To have her beloved South abused, to have her heroes ridiculed, was more than she could bear.  Once, when the Judge was perceptibly better, she flung the paper out of the window, and left the room.  He called her back penitently.

“My dear,” he said, smiling admiration, “forgive an old bear.  A selfish old bear, Jinny; my only excuse is my love for the Union.  When you are not here, I lie in agony, lest she has suffered some mortal blow unknown to me, Jinny.  And if God sees fit to spare our great country, the day will come when you will go down on your knees and thank Him for the inheritance which He saved for your children.  You are a good woman, my dear, and a strong one.  I have hoped that you will see the right.  That you will marry a great citizen, one unwavering in his service and devotion to our Republic.”  The Judge’s voice trembled with earnestness as he spoke.  And the gray eyes under the shaggy brows were alight with the sacred fire of his life’s purpose.  Undaunted as her spirit was, she could not answer him then.