These things the Colonel reported to Virginia; and to Mrs. Colfax, who received them with red eyes and a thousand queries as to whether that Yankee ruffian would pay any attention to the Sovereign law which he pretended to uphold; whether the Marshal would not be cast over the Arsenal wall by the slack of his raiment when he went to serve the writ. This was not the language, but the purport, of the lady's questions. Colonel Carvel had made but a light breakfast: he had had no dinner, and little rest on the train. But he answered his sister-in-law with unfailing courtesy. He was too honest to express a hope which he did not feel. He had returned that evening to a dreary household. During the day the servants had straggled in from Bellegarde, and Virginia had had prepared those dishes which her father loved. Mrs. Colfax chose to keep her room, for which the two were silently thankful. Jackson announced supper. The Colonel was humming a tune as he went down the stairs, but Virginia was not deceived. He would not see the yearning in her eyes as he took his chair; he would not glance at Captain Lige's empty seat. It was because he did not dare. She caught her breath when she saw that the food on his plate lay untouched. "Pa, are you ill?" she faltered. He pushed his chair away, such suffering in his look as she had never seen. "Jinny," he said, "I reckon Lige is for the Yankees." "I have known it all along," she said, but faintly. "Did he tell you?" her father demanded. "No." "My God," cried the Colonel, in agony, "to think that he kept it from me I to think that Lige kept it from me!" "It is because he loves you, Pa," answered the girl, gently, "it is because he loves us." He said nothing to that. Virginia got up, and went softly around the table. She leaned over his shoulder. "Pa!" "Yes," he said, his voice lifeless. But her courage was not to be lightly shaken. "Pa, will you forbid him to come here--now?" A long while she waited for his answer, while the big clock ticked out the slow seconds in the hall, and her heart beat wildly. "No," said the Colonel. "As long as I have a roof, Lige may come under it." He rose abruptly and seized his bat. She did not ask him where he was going, but ordered Jackson to keep the supper warm, and went into the drawing-room. The lights were out, then, but the great piano that was her mother's lay open. Her fingers fell upon the keys. That wondrous hymn which Judge Whipple loved, which for years has been the comfort of those in distress, floated softly with the night air out of the open window. It was "Lead, Kindly Light." Colonel Carvel heard it, and paused. Shall we follow him?