“My dear,” he said, smiling admiration, “forgive an old bear. A selfish old bear, Jinny; my only excuse is my love for the Union. When you are not here, I lie in agony, lest she has suffered some mortal blow unknown to me, Jinny. And if God sees fit to spare our great country, the day will come when you will go down on your knees and thank Him for the inheritance which He saved for your children. You are a good woman, my dear, and a strong one. I have hoped that you will see the right. That you will marry a great citizen, one unwavering in his service and devotion to our Republic.” The Judge's voice trembled with earnestness as he spoke. And the gray eyes under the shaggy brows were alight with the sacred fire of his life's purpose. Undaunted as her spirit was, she could not answer him then. Once, only once, he said to her: “Virginia, I loved your father better than any man I ever knew. Please God I may see him again before I die.” He never spoke of the piano. But sometimes at twilight his eyes would rest on the black cloth that hid it. Virginia herself never touched that cloth to her it seemed the shroud upon a life of happiness that was dead and gone. Virginia had not been with Judge Whipple during the critical week after Stephen was brought home. But Anne had told her that his anxiety was a pitiful thing to see, and that it had left him perceptibly weaker. Certain it was that he was failing fast. So fast that on some days Virginia, watching him, would send Ned or Shadrach in hot haste for Dr. Polk. At noon Anne would relieve Virginia,--Anne or her mother,--and frequently Mr. Brinsmade would come likewise. For it is those who have the most to do who find the most time for charitable deeds. As the hour for their coming drew near, the Judge would be seeking the clock, and scarce did Anne's figure appear in the doorway before the question had arisen to his lips--“And how is my young Captain to-day?” That is what he called him,--“My young Captain.” Virginia's choice of her cousin, and her devotion to him, while seemingly natural enough, had drawn many a sigh from Anne. She thought it strange that Virginia herself had never once asked her about Stephen's condition and she spoke of this 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.