It was not that Stephen feared ostracism.  Anne Brinsmade was almost the only girl left to him from among his former circle of acquaintances.  Miss Carvel’s conduct is known.  The Misses Russell showed him very plainly that they disapproved of his politics.  The hospitable days at that house were over.  Miss Catherwood, when they met on the street, pretended not to see him, and Eugenie Renault gave him but a timid nod.  The loyal families to whose houses he now went were mostly Southerners, in sentiment against forced auctions.

However, he put on his coat, and sallied forth into the sharp air, the Judge leaning on his arm.  They walked for some distance in silence.

“Stephen,” said he, presently, “I guess I’ll do a little bidding.”

Stephen did not reply.  But he was astonished.  He wondered what Mr. Whipple wanted with fine furniture.  And, if he really wished to bid, Stephen knew likewise that no consideration would stop him.

“You don’t approve of this proceeding, sir, I suppose,” said the Judge.

“Yes, sir, on large grounds.  War makes many harsh things necessary.”

“Then,” said the Judge, tartly, “by bidding, we help to support starving Union families.  You should not be afraid to bid, sir.”

Stephen bit his lip.  Sometimes Mr. Whipple made him very angry.

“I am not afraid to bid, Judge Whipple.”  He did not see the smile on the Judge’s face.

“Then you will bid in certain things for me,” said Mr. Whipple.  Here he hesitated, and shook free the rest of the sentence with a wrench.  “Colonel Carvel always had a lot of stuff I wanted.  Now I’ve got the chance to buy it cheap.”

There was silence again, for the space of a whole block.  Finally, Stephen managed to say:—­ “You’ll have to excuse me, sir.  I do not care to do that.”

“What?” cried the Judge, stopping in the middle of a cross-street, so that a wagon nearly ran over his toes.

“I was once a guest in Colonel Carvel’s house, sir.  And—­”

“And what?”

Neither the young man nor the old knew all it was costing the other to say these things.  The Judge took a grim pleasure in eating his heart.  And as for Stephen, he often went to his office through Locust Street, which was out of his way, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of Virginia.  He had guessed much of the privations she had gone through.  He knew that the Colonel had hired out most of his slaves, and he had actually seen the United States Police drive across Eleventh Street with the piano that she had played on.

The Judge was laughing quietly,—­not a pleasant laugh to hear,—­as they came to Morgan’s great warerooms.  A crowd blocked the pavement, and hustled and shoved at the doors,—­roughs, and soldiers off duty, and ladies and gentlemen whom the Judge and Stephen knew, and some of whom they spoke to.  All of these were come out of curiosity, that they might see for themselves any who had the