"This is a very unfortunate mistake," he exclaimed. "What is to be done?"
Miss Fairleigh smiled.
"There is no mistake, Mr. Walthall," she replied. "Mr. Compton is a Northern man, and he has gone to join the Northern army. I think he is right."
"Well," said Walthall, "he will do what he thinks is right, but I wish he was here to-night."
"Oh, so do I!" exclaimed Miss Fairleigh, and then she blushed; seeing which, Mr. Jack Walthall drew his own conclusions.
"If I could get through the lines," she went on, "I would go home." Whereupon Walthall offered her all the assistance in his power, and offered to escort her to the Potomac. But before arrangements for the journey could be made, there came the news of the first battle of Manassas, and the conflict was begun in earnest; so earnest, indeed, that it changed the course of a great many lives, and gave even a new direction to American history.
Miss Fairleigh's friends in Hillsborough would not permit her to risk the journey through the lines; and Captain Walthall's company was ordered to the front, where the young men composing it entered headlong into the hurly-burly that goes by the name of war.
There was one little episode growing out of Jack Walthall's visit to Miss Fairleigh that ought to be told. When that young gentleman bade her good evening, and passed out of the parlor, Miss Fairleigh placed her hands to her face and fell to weeping, as women will.
Major Bass, sitting on the veranda, had been an interested spectator of the conference in the parlor, but it was in the nature of a pantomime. He could hear nothing that was said, but he could see that Miss Fairleigh and Walthall were both laboring under some strong excitement. When, therefore, he saw Walthall pass hurriedly out, leaving Miss Fairleigh in tears in the parlor, it occurred to him that, as the head of the household and the natural protector of the women under his roof, he was bound to take some action. He called Jesse, the negro house-servant, who was on duty in the dining-room.
"Jess! Jess! Oh, Jess!" There was an insinuating sweetness in his voice as it echoed through the hall. Jesse, doubtless recognizing the velvety quality of the tone, made his appearance promptly. "Jess," said the major softly, "I wish you'd please fetch me my shotgun. Make 'aste, Jess, and don't make no furse."