“It all wants a head—­one head, Leila.  Now it is here, there and everywhere, useless gain or loss—­and no large scheme.  John left Washington two weeks ago.  You saw his letter?”

“No.”

“Then I may have told you—­I am sure I did.  Damn it, Leila!  I am so bothered.  I did tell Ann, I suppose.”

“Why, of course, Uncle Jim.  I wish I could help you.  Is it the mills?”

“Yes.  Your little property, part of John’s—­your aunt’s—­are all in the family business.  Ann says, ‘What’s the difference?  Nothing matters now.’  It isn’t like her.”

“I’m sure I don’t care, Uncle Jim.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.  In a month we shall know if we are bankrupt.  I did not mean to trouble you.  I did mean to tell you that to my relief John is out of Washington and ordered to report to General Grant at Cairo.  See, dear, there is a pin marking it on the map.”

“Do you know this General?”

“Yes.  He took no special rank at the Point, but—­who can tell!  Generals are born, not made.  I saw a beautiful water-colour by him at the Point.  That’s all I know of him.  Now, go to bed—­and don’t take with you my worries and fight battles in your dreams.”

There was in fact no one on whom he could willingly unload all of his burdens.  The need to relieve the hands out of work—­two-thirds of his force—­was growing less of late, as men drifted off into the State force which the able Governor Curtin was sending to McClellan.  Penhallow’s friends in Pittsburgh had been able to secure a mortgage on Grey Pine, and thus aided by his partners he won a little relief, while Rivers watched him with increasing anxiety.

On the 17th of January, 1862, he walked into McGregor’s office and said to his stout friend, “McGregor, I am in the utmost distress about my wife.  Inside my home and at the mills I am beset with enough difficulties to drive a man wild.  We have a meeting in half an hour to decide what we shall do.  I used to talk to Ann of my affairs.  No one has or had a clearer head.  Now, I can’t.”

“Why not, my friend?”

“She will not talk.  Henry Grey is in the Confederate service; Charles is out and out for the Union; we have no later news of John.  We miserably sit and eat and manufacture feeble talk at table.  It is pitiful.  Her duties she does, as you may know, but comes home worn out and goes to bed at nine.  Even the village people see it and ask me about her.  If it were not for Leila, I should have no one to talk to.”

A boy came in.  “You are wanted, sir, at the mill office.”

“Say I will come at once.  I’ll see you after the meeting, McGregor.”

“One moment, Squire.  Here’s a bit of good news for you.  Cameron has resigned, and Edwin Stanton is Secretary of War.”

“Stanton!  Indeed!  Thank Heaven for that.  Now things will move, I am sure.”

The Squire found in his office Sibley, one of his partners, a heavy old man, who carried the indifferent manners of a farmer’s son into a middle age of successful business.  He sat with his chair tilted back, a huge Cabana cigar hanging unlighted from the corner of his mouth.  He made no movement towards rising, but gave his hand as he sat, and said:  “There, Penhallow, just read that!”