low and the streets wet as people walked home to dinner, to discuss, many in passion and some in sorrow, the doings of the morning.  A certain clergyman had prayed to be delivered from the Irish, the Dutch, and the Devil.  Was it he who started the old rumor which made such havoc that afternoon?  Those barbarians of the foreign city to the south, drunk with power, were to sack and loot the city.  How it flew across street and alley, from yard to yard, and from house to house!  Privileged Ned ran into the dining-room where Virginia and her aunt were sitting, his eyes rolling and his face ashen with terror, crying out that the Dutch were marching on the city, firebrands in hand and murder in their hearts.

“De Gen’ral done gib out er procl’mation, Miss Jinny,” he cried.  “De Gen’ral done say in dat procl’mation dat he ain’t got no control ober de Dutch soldiers.”

Mrs. Colfax fainted.

“Oh Miss Jinny, ain’t you gwineter Glencoe?  Ain’t you gwineter flee away?  Every fambly on dis here street’s gwine away—­is packin’ up fo’ de country.  Doan’t you hear ’em, Miss Jinny?  What’ll your pa say to Ned of he ain’t make you clear out!  Doan’t you hear de carridges a-rattlin’ off to de country?”

Virginia rose in agitation, yet trying to be calm, and to remember that the safety of the household depended upon her alone.  That was her thought,—­bred into her by generations,—­the safety of the household, of the humblest slave whose happiness and welfare depended upon her father’s bounty.  How she longed in that instant for her father or Captain Lige, for some man’s strength, to depend upon.  Would there be wisdom in flight?

“Do you want to go, Ned?” she asked.  She has seen her aunt swoon before, and her maid Susan knows well what to do.  “Do you want to go, Ned?”

“Laws Mussy, no, Miss Jinny.  One nigger laik me doan’t make no difference.  My Marsa he say:  ’Whaffor you leave ma house to be ramsacked by de Dutch?’

“What I gwineter answer?  Oh Miss Jinny, you an’ Miss Lill an’ Mammy Easter an’ Susan’s gwine with Jackson, an’ de othah niggahs can walk.  Ephum an’ me’ll jes’ put up de shutters an’ load de Colonel’s gun.”

By this time the room was filled with excited negroes, some crying, and some laughing hysterically.  Uncle Ben had come in from the kitchen; Jackson was there, and the women were a wailing bunch in the corner by the sideboard.  Old Ephum, impassive, and Ned stood together.  Virginia’s eye rested upon them, and the light of love and affection was in it.  She went to the window.  Yes, carriages were indeed rattling outside, though a sharp shower was falling.  Across the street Alphonse, M. Renault’s butler, was depositing bags and bundles on the steps.  M. Renault himself bustled out into the rain, gesticulating excitedly.  Spying her at the window, he put his hands to his mouth, cried out something, and ran in again.  Virginia flung open the sash and listened for the dreaded sound of drums.  Then she crossed quickly over to where her aunt was lying on the lounge.