“I am glad you have come back to me,” she said tenderly, “for I shan't let you go into town again until the excitement is past. It is no place for a hot-headed boy who might easily be led into folly, and you will stay quietly here with me, won't you? Sam can go in tomorrow and bring out your books. That will be the best way; won't it, dear?” The boy set his teeth in his endeavour to control the workings of his face, which he felt must betray him. “I suppose it seemed for the moment the only thing left for men to do,” Virginia went on gently. “But the realities of war are so dreadful, that if we would only stop to think, I am sure a better, a wiser way could be found to settle our difficulties.” He moved restlessly in his chair. “Oh, this won't be much of a war, Aunt Virginia. President Lincoln only wants men for ninety days, I suppose he knows what's needed. The fellows who enlisted to-night will probably go to Washington, or maybe they won't get any further away than Columbus, where there's to be a big military camp established; but the enlisting was sort of interesting to watch, everybody was cheering and there was a lot of enthusiasm and noise.” How was he going to tell her of what he had done! He had felt the excitement himself as an intoxicating draught that carried forgetfulness with it. He had gone to extremes of feeling that night of which he had hardly thought himself capable. Men had slapped him on the back, telling him he was a fine fellow, a brave fellow, and every inch a Landray! But more than all, Marian had smiled upon him with love and pride and hero-worship; but how was he to make his Aunt Virginia understand this, or the need he had of the very experience that was to take him from her. She must have realized something of what was passing in his mind, for she said in sudden alarm: “You are not telling me all, Stephen—you are keeping back something!” And he answered her with a look so miserable, that she was instantly convinced that this was so. “Dear Stephen, listen to me, you must stay quietly here and finish fitting yourself for your profession. You will have responsibilities and cares enough, poor boy, just here, you need not go away from home to seek them; the family fortunes need rebuilding, and you must do that. They have been wrecked by just such folly as this, by this love for adventure. You must be very sane and reasonable, you can't give way to these impulses; don't you see it this way, too?” Her words did not shake his resolution in the least, though they made him profoundly wretched, since he despaired of her ever comprehending his distaste for the career she had mapped out for him. Yet it seemed to him a most brutal thing to do to even try and explain this to her. “I'm sorry,” he said, with a gulp. “But you'd better know it now—I've enlisted!” The hand she had been resting on his arm, fell at her side. There was a ghastly pause. “Stephen! Stephen—how could you?” she cried.