A bar of light, peopled by moths, slanted out of the doorway and fell on a closed carriage.  A gentleman slowly ascended the steps.  Virginia recognized him as Mr. Brinsmade.

“Your cousin Clarence has come home, my dear,” he said.  “He was among the captured at Vicksburg, and is paroled by General Grant.”

Virginia gave a little cry and started forward.  But he held her hands.

“He has been wounded!”

“Yes,” she exclaimed, “yes.  Oh, tell me, Mr. Brinsmade, tell me—­all—­”

“No, he is not dead, but he is very low.  Mr. Russell has been kind enough to come with me.”

She hurried to call the servants.  But they were all there in the light, in African postures of terror,—­Alfred, and Sambo, and Mammy Easter, and Ned.  They lifted the limp figure in gray, and carried it into the hall chamber, his eyes closed, his face waxen under a beard brown and shaggy.  Heavily, Virginia climbed the stairs to break the news to her aunt.

There is little need to dwell on the dark days which followed—­Clarence hanging between life and death.  That his life was saved was due to Virginia and to Mammy Easter, and in no particle to his mother.  Mrs. Colfax flew in the face of all the known laws of nursing, until Virginia was driven to desperation, and held a council of war with Dr. Polk.  Then her aunt grew jealous, talked of a conspiracy, and threatened to send for Dr. Brown—­which Dr. Polk implored her to do.  By spells she wept, when they quietly pushed her from the room and locked the door.  She would creep in to him in the night during Mammy Easter’s watches and talk him into a raging fever.  But Virginia slept lightly and took the alarm.  More than one scene these two had in the small hours, while Ned was riding post haste over the black road to town for the Doctor.

By the same trusty messenger did Virginia contrive to send a note to Mrs. Brice, begging her to explain her absence to Judge Whipple.  By day or night Virginia did not leave Bellegarde.  And once Dr. Polk, while walking in the garden, found the girl fast asleep on a bench, her sewing on her lap.  Would that a master had painted his face as he looked down at her!

’Twas he who brought Virginia daily news of Judge Whipple.  Bad news, alas! for he seemed to miss her greatly.  He had become more querulous and exacting with patient Mrs. Brice, and inquired for her continually.

She would not go.  But often, when he got into his buggy the Doctor found the seat filled with roses and fresh fruit.  Well he knew where to carry them.

What Virginia’s feelings were at this time no one will ever know.  God had mercifully given her occupation, first with the Judge, and later, when she needed it more, with Clarence.  It was she whom he recognized first of all, whose name was on his lips in his waking moments.  With the petulance of returning reason, he pushed his mother away.  Unless Virginia was at his bedside when he awoke, his fever rose.  He put his hot hand into her cool one, and it rested there sometimes for hours.  Then, and only then, did he seem contented.