He left her standing on the pavement.  But when he reached the corner and looked back he saw that she had gone in at his own little gate to meet his mother.  Then he walked rapidly westward.  Now and again he was stopped by feverish questions, but at length he reached the top of the second ridge from the river, along which crowded Eighteenth Street now runs.  There stood the new double mansion Mr. Spencer Catherwood had built two years before on the outskirts of the town, with the wall at the side, and the brick stable and stable yard.  As Stephen approached it, the thought came to him how little this world’s goods avail in times of trouble.  One of the big Catherwood boys was in the blue marching regiment that day, and had been told by his father never again to darken his doors.  Another was in Clarence Colfax’s company of dragoons, and still another had fled southward the night after Sumter.

Stephen stopped at the crest of the hill, in the white dust of the new-turned street, to gaze westward.  Clouds were gathering in the sky, but the sun still shone brightly, Half way up the rise two blue lines had crawled, followed by black splotches, and at the southwest was the glint of the sun on rifle barrels.  Directed by a genius in the art of war, the regiments were closing about Camp Jackson.

As he stood there meditating and paying no attention to those who hurried past, a few familiar notes were struck on a piano.  They came through the wide-shuttered window above his head.  Then a girl’s voice rose above the notes, in tones that were exultant:—­

       “Away down South in de fields of cotton,
        Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom,
        Look away, look away, Look away, look away. 
        Den I wish I was in Dixie’s Land,
        Oh, oh! oh, oh! 
        In Dixie’s Land I’ll take my stand,
        And live and die in Dixie’s Land. 
        Away, away, away. 
        Away down South in Dixie.”

The song ceased amid peals of girlish laughter.  Stephen was rooted to the spot.

“Jinny!  Jinny Carvel, how dare you!” came through the shutters.  “We shall have a whole regiment of Hessians in here.”

Old Uncle Ben, the Catherwoods’ coachman, came out of the stable yard.  The whites of his eyes were rolling, half in amusement, half in terror.  Seeing Stephen standing there, he exclaimed: 

“Mistah Brice, if de Dutch take Camp Jackson, is we niggers gwinter be free?”

Stephen did not answer, for the piano had started again,

       “If ever I consent to be married,
        And who could refuse a good mate? 
        The man whom I give my hand to,
        Must believe in the Rights of the State.”

More laughter.  Then the blinds were flung aside, and a young lady in a dress of white trimmed with crimson stood in the window, smiling.  Suddenly she perceived Stephen in the road.  Her smile faded.  For an instant she stared at him, and then turned to the girls crowding behind her.  What she said, he did not wait to hear.  He was striding down the hill.