The future is laid open to such men as he.  Since he had first seen the black cloud of war rolling up from the South, a hundred times had he rehearsed the scene with Colonel Carvel which had actually taken place a week before.  A hundred times had he prepared his speech and manner for this first appearance in public with Virginia after he had forced the right to walk in her company.  The words he had prepared—­commonplace, to be sure, but carefully chosen—­flowed from his lips in a continual nasal stream.  The girl answered absently, her feminine instinct groping after a reason for it all.  She brightened when she saw her father at the doors and, saying good by to Eugenie, tripped up the steps, bowing to Eliphalet coldly.

“Why, bless us, Jinny,” said the Colonel, “you haven’t been parading the town in that costume!  You’ll have us in Lynch’s slave pen by to-morrow night.  My land!” laughed he, patting her under the chin, “there’s no doubt about your sentiments, anyhow.”

“I’ve been over to Puss Russell’s house,” said she, breathless.  “They’ve closed it up, you know—­” (He nodded.) “And then we went—­Eugenie and I, to headquarters, just to see what the Yankees would do.”

The Colonel’s smile faded.  He looked grave.  “You must take care, honey,” he said, lowering his voice.  “They suspect me now of communicating with the Governor and McCulloch.  Jinny, it’s all very well to be brave, and to stand by your colors.  But this sort of thing,” said he, stroking the gown, “this sort of thing doesn’t help the South, my dear, and only sets spies upon us.  Ned tells me that there was a man in plain clothes standing in the alley last night for three hours.”

“Pa,” cried the girl, “I’m so sorry.”  Suddenly searching his face with a swift instinct, she perceived that these months had made it yellow and lined.  “Pa, dear, you must come to Glencoe to-morrow and rest You must not go off on any more trips.”

The Colonel shook his head sadly.

“It isn’t the trips, Jinny There are duties, my dear, pleasant duties —­Jinny—­”

“Yes?”

The Colonel’s eye had suddenly fallen on Mr, Hopper, who was still standing at the bottom of the steps.  He checked himself abruptly as Eliphalet pulled off his hat,

“Howdy, Colonel?” he said.

Virginia was motionless, with her back to the intruder, She was frozen by a presentiment.  As she saw her father start down the steps, she yearned to throw herself in front of him—­to warn him of something; she knew not what.  Then she heard the Colonel’s voice, courteous and kindly as ever.  And yet it broke a little as he greeted his visitor.

“Won’t—­won’t you come in, Mr. Hopper?”

Virginia started

“I don’t know but what I will, thank you, Colonel,” he answered; easily.  “I took the liberty of walking home with your daughter.”