The life in the May household, of which Dorothea had become a permanent part, went on busily week after week. There were alternating periods of depression and elation as rumors of good or bad fortune for the Confederate armies reached the little town. But no matter whether they won or lost, the confidence of her Southern cousins never flagged. The social gayeties continued unabated, although the lack of young men emphasized the cause of their absence. “I suppose you’d have us act like the Yanks had scared us till we forgot how to dance,” Harriot told Dorothea, echoing the opinion generally held by those about her. And so the songs and merriment went on, and if there was a hollow ring in the laughter Dorothea was not able to detect it. The sherbets might be sweetened with watermelon sugar, the cake made of sorghum and rice flour, dresses might be re-dyed and refurbished till they were thread-bare; but the dances and parties never flagged. Letters from her father had come several times to Dorothea, some by way of Mexico, others in a roundabout way from Canada, but he had warned her that it was becoming increasingly difficult to communicate with her, that few of her letters sent through his agents in England ever reached him. He suggested that in case of necessity a personal item in the _Richmond Enquirer_ which coöoperated with the _New York Daily News_ would be forwarded to him. Meanwhile both must rest assured that no news was good news. Mrs. Stewart remained in little Washington although she still talked of instant flight, and one day late in May she was visiting her sister-in-law and discussing the matter as if it were an entirely new subject. “What I maintain,” she insisted, “is that there is no future for us here any longer. Even if we win the war, our good old Wilkes County families have been humiliated to the depths. I have seen my own child eat clabber from a cracked plate.” She looked about her, doubtless expecting groans from sympathetic relatives. “Did it have cinnamon and sugar on it?” demanded Harriot. “Aunt Decent gives most of ours to the babies, but I just love it.” They were interrupted at that moment by the sound of a horse trotting up the drive and Harriot ran out to see who it was. “Oh, mother, here’s Hal!” she called, and a moment later the young man himself walked in. He was lean and worn-looking and his mother gazed at him anxiously as she took him in her arms. “You have bad news, I fear,” she murmured. “Is it your father?” “You have heard from him since I have,” he answered quickly. “No, mother, there’s no personal misfortune to tell. All our kin have come through safely. Val Tracy has been made a Captain and is as well as you can expect. But I fear he’s hungry, or in love. He hasn’t been cheerful a minute since we left here.” He was striving to speak lightly, but his mother saw through the pretense. “There is something troubling you, dear,” she insisted. “I can tell by your face that something is wrong.”