one day to the Judge with as much warmth as she was capable of.

"Jinny's heart is like steel where a Yankee is concerned. If her best
friend were a Yankee--"

Judge Whipple checked her, smiling.

"She has been very good to one Yankee I know of," he said. "And as for
Mrs. Brice, I believe she worships her."

"But when I said that Stephen was much better to-day, she swept out of
the room as if she did not care whether he lived or died."

"Well, Anne," the Judge had answered, "you women are a puzzle to me. I
guess you don't understand yourselves," he added.

That was a strange month in the life of Clarence Colfax,--the last of his
recovery, while he was waiting for the news of his exchange. Bellegarde
was never more beautiful, for Mrs. Colfax had no whim of letting the
place run down because a great war was in progress. Though devoted to the
South, she did not consecrate her fortune to it. Clarence gave as much as
he could.

Whole afternoons Virginia and he would sit in the shaded arbor seat; or
at the cool of the day descend to the bench on the lower tier of the
summer garden, to steep, as it were, in the blended perfumes of the roses
and the mignonettes and the pinks. He was soberer than of old. Often
through the night he pondered on the change in her. She, too, was grave.
But he was troubled to analyze her gravity, her dignity. Was this merely
strength of character, the natural result of the trials through which she