A day or two later John too left to undergo the dreaded examination at West Point.  The two older people were left alone at Grey Pine with the rector, who had returned from his annual holiday later than usual.  Always depressed at these seasons, he was now indisposed for the society of even the two people who were his most valued friends.  He dined with them the day John went away and took up the many duties of his clerical life, until as was his custom, a week later he came in smiling for the Saturday dinner, saying, “Well, here comes the old house-dog for his bone.”

They made him welcome as gaily.  “Has the town wickedness accumulated in your absence, Mark?” said Penhallow.

“Mine has,” said Ann Penhallow, “but I never confess except to myself.”

“Ann Penhallow might be a severe confessor,” said Rivers as they sat down.  “How you must miss John and Leila.  I shall most sadly.”

“Oh, for my part,” said Ann, “I have made up my mind not to lament the inevitable, but my husband is like a lost dog and—­oh!—­heart-hungry for Leila, and worried about that boy’s examination—­his passing.”

“Have I said a word?” said the Squire indignantly.  “Pass!  Of course, he will pass.”

“No one doubts that, James; but you are afraid he will not be near the top.”

“You are a witch, Ann.  How did you know that?”

“How?” and she laughed.  “How long have we been married!”

“Nonsense, Ann!  What has that got to do with the matter?”

“Well,” said Rivers, a little amused, “we shall know in a day or two.  He will pass high.”

“Of course,” said Penhallow.

Then the talk drifted away to the mills, the village and the farm work.  When after dinner Rivers declined to smoke with the Squire, Ann walked with the clergyman down the avenue and said presently, “Dine with us on Monday, Mark, and as often as possible.  My husband is really worrying about John.”

“And you, dear lady?”

“I—­oh, of course, I miss them greatly; but Leila needs the contact with the social life she now has in the weekly holiday at Baltimore; and as for John, did it never occur to you that he ought to be among men of his age—­and social position—­and women too, who will not, I fancy, count for much in the ‘West Point education.’

“Yes—­yes, what you say is true of course, but ah!  I dread for him the temptations of another life than this.”

“Would you keep him here longer, if you could?” she asked.

“No.  What would life be worth or how could character be developed without temptation?  That is one of my puzzles about the world to come, a world where there would be no ‘yes and no’ would hardly be worth while.”

“And quite beyond me,” cried Ann, laughing.  “We have done our best for them.  Let us pray that they will not forget.  I have no fear for Leila.  I do not know about John.  I must go home.  Come often.  Good-night.  I suppose the sermon takes you away so early.”