“Oh, Uncle Silas,” she cried, “I am so glad that we have a wild turkey.  And you shall have your side-bone.”  The girl carved deftly, feverishly, talking the while, aided by that most kind and accomplished of hosts, her father.  In the corner the dreaded skeleton of the subject grinned sardonically.  Were they going to be able to keep it off?  There was to be no help from Judge Whipple, who sat in grim silence.  A man who feels his soul burning is not given to small talk.  Virginia alone had ever possessed the power to make him forget.

“Uncle Silas, I am sure there are some things about our trip that we never told you.  How we saw Napoleon and his beautiful Empress driving in the Bois, and how Eugenie smiled and bowed at the people.  I never saw such enthusiasm in my life.  And oh, I learned such a lot of French history.  All about Francis the First, and Pa took me to see his chateaus along the Loire.  Very few tourists go there.  You really ought to have gone with us.”

Take care, Virginia!

“I had other work to do, Jinny,” said the Judge.

Virginia rattled an.

“I told you that we stayed with a real lord in England, didn’t I?” said she.  “He wasn’t half as nice as the Prince.  But he had a beautiful house in Surrey, all windows, which was built in Elizabeth’s time.  They called the architecture Tudor, didn’t they, Pa?”

“Yes, dear,” said the Colonel, smiling.

“The Countess was nice to me,” continued the girl, “and took me to garden parties.  But Lord Jermyn was always talking politics.”

The Colonel was stroking his goatee.

“Tell Silas about the house, Jinny—­Jackson, help the Judge again.”

“No,” said Virginia, drawing a breath.  “I’m going to tell him about that queer club where my great-grand-father used to bet with Charles Fox.  We saw a great many places where Richard Carvel had been in England.  That was before the Revolution.  Uncle Daniel read me some of his memoirs when we were at Calvert House.  I know that you would be interested in them, Uncle Silas.  He sailed under Paul Jones.”

“And fought for his country and for his flag, Virginia,” said the Judge, who had scarcely spoken until then.  “No, I could not bear to read them now, when those who should love that country are leaving it in passion.”

There was a heavy silence.  Virginia did not dare to look at her father.  But the Colonel said, gently: 

“Not in passion, Silas, but in sorrow.”

The Judge tightened his lips.  But the effort was beyond him, and the flood within him broke loose.

“Colonel Carvel,” he cried, “South Carolina is mad—­She is departing in sin, in order that a fiendish practice may be perpetuated.  If her people stopped to think they would know that slavery cannot exist except by means of this Union.  But let this milksop of a President do his worst.  We have chosen a man who has the strength to say, ‘You shall not go!’”