another confidence.

"My cousin Norris told me that the Yankees have bread every day; an'
tea--an' milk--an' everything. _An' butter!_"

This last-named article of common diet was mentioned with an air of
reverential awe; and, somehow, it hurt the well-fed Union officer far
more than had she made some direct accusation against the invading
armies of the North.

"Don't, Virgie--please," he murmured softly. "There are some things we
just can't bear to listen to--even in times of war." He sighed and
dropped into his former seat, striving gently to change the subject.
"You have lived here--always?"

"Oh, no," she assured him, with a lift of her small, patrician brows.
"_This_ is the overseer's house. _Our_ house used to be up on the hill,
in the grove."

"_Used_ to be--?"

"Yes, sir. But--but the Yankees burnt it up."

Morrison's fist came down on the table with a crash. He remembered now
his raid of some months before upon this same plantation, so unfamiliar
in its present neglected state. Again he looked into the fearless eyes
of a Southern gentlewoman who mocked him while her lover husband swam
the river and escaped. Again he saw the mansion wrapped in flame and
smoke--the work of a drunken fiend in his own command. Yes, he
remembered now; too well; then he turned to the child and spoke: