"Nothing," she broke in. "How could I make anything of a thing that could never belong to me? Jessie, you'll fall out of that rocking chair if you don't mind. I once told you that I have the instincts of a lady, and I have, and I will not turn upon those instincts and mock them."
"But if you would only acknowledge that you care for me," I pleaded; "if you would only light a candle, call it hope and hold it aloft, no matter how far down the road, I could keep my eyes fastened upon it and live on faith."
She looked at me, whether in pity or in scorn I could not tell. But I could gather no comfort from her words. "Flies scorch their wings in the candle lighted down the road," she said.
At this moment Old Miss came into the room. "Why, gracious alive, why do you let that fire smoke so?" she cried. "Shove that log further back. I never saw as worthless a negro as you are. To bring a log in and throw it down right in front of the fire where it can do nothing but smoke! Go out. It makes me weary to look at you."
She had not the opportunity much longer to look at me, for on the morrow, Young Master's troop, now but a play-thing, was to become a part of the great machinery of war. It was known that we were going, but at the supper table not a word bearing upon that subject was uttered by Old Miss, Mr. Clem or Miss May. We heard Old Master walking up and down the hall. At night Mr. Clem came to the room.
"Well, you march to-morrow, I suppose," said he.
"Yes," Young Master replied, "we go, rain or shine."
"And I go very soon. I am waiting for my commission. Having once been a soldier gives me some little importance."
"Uncle Clem, do you think we can get through within ninety days?"