What are they waiting for?  Why don’t they move?  Hark!  A clatter and a cloud of dust by the market place, an ecstasy of cheers running in waves the length of the crowd.  Make way for the dragoons!  Here they come at last, four and four, the horses prancing and dancing and pointing quivering ears at the tossing sea of hats and parasols and ribbons.  Maude Catherwood squeezes Virginia’s arm.  There, riding in front, erect and firm in the saddle, is Captain Clarence Colfax.  Virginia is red and white, and red again,—­true colors of the Confederacy.  How proud she was of him now!  How ashamed that she even doubted him!  Oh, that was his true calling, a soldier’s life.  In that moment she saw him at the head of armies, from the South, driving the Yankee hordes northward and still northward until the roar of the lakes warns them of annihilation.  She saw his chivalry sparing them.  Yes, this is Secession Monday.

Down to a trot they slow, Clarence’s black thorough-bred arching his long neck, proud as his master of the squadron which follows, four and four.  The square young man of bone and sinew in the first four, whose horse is built like a Crusader’s, is George Catherwood.  And Eugenie gives a cry and points to the rear where Maurice is riding.

Whose will be the Arsenal now?  Can the Yankee regiments with their slouchy Dutchmen hope to capture it!  If there are any Yankees in Twelfth Street that day, they are silent.  Yes, there are some.  And there are some, even in the ranks of this Militia—­who will fight for the Union.  These are sad indeed.

There is another wait, the companies standing at ease.  Some of the dragoons dismount, but not the handsome young captain, who rides straight to the bright group which has caught his eye, Colonel Carvel wrings his gauntleted hand.

“Clarence, we are proud of you, sir,” he says.

And Virginia, repeats his words, her eyes sparkling, her fingers caressing the silken curve of Jefferson’s neck.

“Clarence, you will drive Captain Lyon and his Hessians into the river.”

“Hush, Jinny,” he answered, “we are merely going into camp to learn to drill, that we may be ready to defend the state when the time comes.”

Virginia laughed.  “I had forgotten,” she said.

“You will have your cousin court-martialed, my dear,” said the Colonel.

Just then the call is sounded.  But he must needs press Virginia’s hand first, and allow admiring Maude and Eugenie to press his.  Then he goes off at a slow canter to join his dragoons, waving his glove at them, and turning to give the sharp order, “Attention”! to his squadron.

Virginia is deliriously happy.  Once more she has swept from her heart every vestige of doubt.  Now is Clarence the man she can admire.  Chosen unanimously captain of the Squadron but a few days since, Clarence had taken command like a veteran.  George Catherwood and Maurice had told the story.