“I have not,” he replied honestly, “but I will submit it to your own judgment.  Yesterday General Harney superseded Captain Lyon in command in St. Louis.  Some citizens of prominence begged the General to send the troops away, to avoid further ill-feeling and perhaps—­bloodshed.” (They both winced at the word.) “Colonel Blair represented to the General that the troops could not be sent away, as they had been enlisted to serve only in St. Louis; whereupon the General in his proclamation states that he has no control over these Home Guards.  That sentence has been twisted by some rascal into a confession that the Home Guards are not to be controlled.  I can assure you, Miss Carvel,” added Stephen, speaking with a force which made her start and thrill, “I can assure you from a personal knowledge of the German troops that they are not a riotous lot, and that they are under perfect control.  If they were not, there are enough regulars in the city to repress them.”

He paused.  And she was silent, forgetful of the hub-bub around her.  It was then that her aunt called out to her, with distressing shrillness, from the carriage:—­ “Jinny, Jinny, how can you stand there talking to young men when our lives are in danger?”

She glanced hurriedly at Stephen, who said gently; “I do not wish to delay you, Miss Carvel, if you are bent upon going.”

She wavered.  His tone was not resentful, simply quiet.  Ephum turned the corner of the street, the perspiration running on his black face.

“Miss Jinny, dey ain’t no carridges to be had in this town.  No’m, not for fifty dollars.”

This was the occasion for another groan from the negroes, and they began once more to beseech her not to leave them.  In the midst of their cries she heard her aunt calling from the carriage, where, beside the trunk, there was just room for her to squeeze in.

“Jinny,” cried that lady, frantically, “are you to go or stay?  The Hessians will be here at any moment.  Oh, I cannot stay here to be murdered!”

Unconsciously the girl glanced again at Stephen.  He had not gone, but was still standing in the rain on the steps, the one figure of strength and coolness she had seen this afternoon.  Distracted, she blamed the fate which had made this man an enemy.  How willingly would she have leaned upon such as he, and submitted to his guidance.  Unluckily at that moment came down the street a group which had been ludicrous on any other day, and was, in truth, ludicrous to Stephen then.  At the head of it was a little gentleman with red mutton-chop whiskers, hatless, in spite of the rain beginning to fall.  His face was the very caricature of terror.  His clothes, usually neat, were awry, and his arms were full of various things, not the least conspicuous of which was a magnificent bronze clock.  It was this object that caught Virginia’s eye.  But years passed before she laughed over it.  Behind Mr. Cluyme (for it was he) trotted his family.  Mrs. Cluyme, in a pink wrapper, carried an armful of the family silver; then came Belle with certain articles of feminine apparel which need not be enumerated, and the three small Cluymes of various ages brought up the rear.