“No,” replied Dr. Polk, “but her son Stephen has come home from the army.  He was transferred to Lauman’s brigade, and then he was wounded.”  He jangled the keys in his pocket and continued “It seems that he had no business in the battle.  Johnston in his retreat had driven animals into all the ponds and shot them, and in the hot weather the water was soon poisoned.  Mr. Brice was scarcely well enough to stand when they made the charge, and he is now in a dreadful condition He is a fine fellow,” added the Doctor, with a sigh, “General Sherman sent a special physician to the boat with him.  He is—­” Subconsciously the Doctor’s arm sought Virginia’s back, as though he felt her swaying.  But he was looking at Clarence, who had jerked himself forward in his chair, his thin hands convulsively clutching at the arms of it.  He did not appear to see Virginia.

“Stephen Brice, did you say?” he cried, “will he die?”

In his astonishment the Doctor passed his palm across his brow, and for a moment he did not answer.  Virginia had taken a step from him, and was standing motionless, almost rigid, her eyes on his face.

“Die?” he said, repeating the word mechanically; “my God, I hope not.  The danger is over, and he is resting easily.  If he were not,” he said quickly and forcibly, “I should not be here.”

The Doctor’s mare passed more than one fleet—­footed trotter on the road. to town that day.  And the Doctor’s black servant heard his master utter the word “fool” twice, and with great emphasis.

For a long time Virginia stood on the end of the porch, until the heaving of the buggy harness died on the soft road, She felt Clarence gaze upon her before she turned to face him.

“Virginia!” He had called her so of late.  “Yes, dear.”

“Virginia, sit here a moment; I have something to tell you.”

She came and took the chair beside him, her heart beating, her breast rising and falling.  She looked into his eyes, and her own lashes fell before the hopelessness there But he put out his fingers wasted by illness, and she took them in her own.

He began slowly, as if every word cost him pain.

“Virginia, we were children together here.  I cannot remember the time when I did not love you, when I did not think of you as my wife.  All I did when we played together was to try to win your applause.  That was my nature I could not help it.  Do you remember the day I climbed out on the rotten branch of the big pear tree yonder to get you that pear—­when I fell on the roof of Alfred’s cabin?  I did not feel the pain.  It was because you kissed it and cried over me.  You are crying now,” he said tenderly.  “Don’t, Jinny.  It isn’t to make you sad that I am saying this.