"I do not deny that I think the world and all of Jack. He is my brother in heart, if not in blood--and I will thank you to remember that after this," went on Marion in a decided tone. "You will learn of your mistake some time--perhaps when it is too late." "Jack is true to the core, and as brave as he is true. Why, he would go to the war if mamma would give her consent." At this St. John Ruthven winced. "Well--er--I would go myself if my mother did not need me at home," he stammered. "She must have somebody to look after the plantation. We can't trust the niggers." "Many men have gone to the front and allowed their plantations to take care of themselves. They place the honor of their glorious country over everything else." "Well, my mother will not allow me to go--she has positively forbidden it," insisted St. John, anxious to clear his character. This statement was untrue; he had never spoken to his mother on the subject, thinking she might urge him to go to the front. His plea that he must look after the plantation was entirely of his own making. "Supposing we should lose in this struggle--what will become of your plantation then?" At this St. John grew pale. "I--I hardly think we will lose," he stammered. "We have plenty of soldiers." "But not as many as the North has. General Lee could use fifty thousand more men, if he could get them." "Well, I shall go to the front when I am actually needed, Marion; you can take my word on that. But won't you listen to what I have told you about my feeling for you?" "No, St. John; I am too young to fall in love with anybody. I shall at least wait until this cruel war is over." "But I can hope?" She shook her head. Then she picked up her bouquet. "Will you come up to the house with me?" "Not now, Marion. Give my respects to my aunt and tell her I will call in a day or two again. And, by the way, Marion, don't let her think hard of me because of Jack. I desire only to see to it that the boy does not do you mischief." "As I said before, I will listen to nothing against dear Jack, so there!" cried Marion, and stamping her foot, she hurried toward the house. St. John Ruthven watched her out of sight, then turned and stalked off toward the roadway leading to his home. "She evidently does not love me as I thought," he muttered to himself. "And I made a mess of it by speaking ill of Jack. Confound the luck! What had I best do now? I wish I could get that boy out of the way altogether, I really do." CHAPTER VIII. THE HOME GUARDS OF OLDVILLE. The week to follow the events recorded in the last chapter was a trying one for the inhabitants of Oldville, as the district around the Ruthvens' plantation was called.