“I understand you, Mr. Brinsmade,” she said.  She saw, as did Stephen, the kindness behind the offer—­Colonel Carvel’s kindness and his own.  The gentleman’s benevolent face brightened: 

“And, my dear Madam, do not let the thought of this little house trouble you.  It was never my expectation to have it occupied in the summer.  If we could induce the Judge to go to Glencoe with you for the summer; I am sure it would be a relief for us all.”

He did not press the matter; but begged Stephen to call on him in a day or two, at the bank.

“What do you think, Stephen,” asked his mother, when Mr. Brinsmade was gone, Stephen did not reply at once.  What, indeed, could he say?  The vision of that proud figure of Miss Virginia was before him, and he revolted.  What was kindness from Colonel Carvel and Mr. Brinsmade was charity from her.  He could not bear the thought of living in a house haunted by her.  And yet why should he let his pride and his feelings stand in the way of the health—­perhaps of the life—­of Judge Whipple?

It was characteristic of his mothers strength of mind not to mention the subject again that evening.  Stephen did not sleep in the hot night.  But when he rose in the morning he had made up his mind.  After breakfast he went straight to the Colonel’s store, and fortunately found.  Mr. Carvel at his desk, winding up his affairs.

The next morning, when the train for the East pulled out of Illinoistown, Miss Jinny Carvel stood on the plat form tearfully waving good-by to a knot of friends.  She was leaving for Europe.  Presently she went into the sleeping-car to join the Colonel, who wore a gray liners duster.  For a long time she sat gazing at the young, corn waving on the prairie, fingering the bunch of June roses on her lap.  Clarence had picked them only a few hours ago, in the dew at Bellegarde.  She saw her cousin standing disconsolate under the train sheds, just as she had left him.  She pictured him riding out the Bellefontaine Road that afternoon, alone.  Now that the ocean was to be between them, was it love that she felt for Clarence at last?  She glanced at her father.  Once or twice she had suspected him of wishing to separate them.  Her Aunt Lillian, indeed, had said as much, and Virginia had silenced her.  But when she had asked the Colonel to take Clarence to Europe, he had refused.  And yet she knew that he had begged Captain Lige to go.

Virginia had been at home but a week.  She had seen the change in Clarence and exulted.  The very first day she had surprised him on the porch at Bellegarde with “Hardee’s tactics”.  From a boy Clarence had suddenly become a man with a Purpose,—­and that was the Purpose of the South.

“They have dared to nominate that dirty Lincoln,” he said.—­“Do you think that we will submit to nigger equality rule?  Never! never!” he cried.  “If they elect him, I will stand and fight them until my legs are shot from under me, and then I will shoot down the Yankees from the ground.”