“He has got a new hero, uncle—­General Grant.  John is strong on heroes—­he began with you.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” said the Squire.  “Read it.”

Leila hesitated.

“Oh, let’s hear it,” cried her aunt.

“Go on, dear,” said the Squire.

Leila still hesitated.  Usually Ann Penhallow carried away John’s rare letters to be read when alone.  Now she said, with unnatural deliberation.  “Read it; one may as well hear his news; we can’t always just ignore what goes on.”

Leila a little puzzled glanced at her aunt.  The Squire pleased and astonished said, “Go on, my dear.”

Turning to the candles on the hall table, Leila read the letter:—­“Why how long it has been!  It is dated November 20th.”

“DEAR LEILA:  We have been moving from place to place, and although I know or guess why, it is best left out of letters.  At Belmont General Grant had a narrow escape from capture.  He was the last man on board the boat.  He is a slightly built, grave, tired-looking man, middle-aged, carelessly dressed and eternally smoking.  I was in the thick of the row—­a sort of aide, as there was no engineer work.  He was as cool as a cucumber—­”

“Why are cucumbers cool?” asked Leila, looking up.  “Oh, bother!  Go on!” said Penhallow.

“We shall move soon.  Good-bye.

“JOHN PENHALLOW.”

Ann made no comment.  The Squire said, “It might have been longer.  Come, there’s dinner, and I am hungry.”

Ann looked at him.  He was gay, and laughed at her account of Rivers’s disaster.

“I have some good news for you, Ann.  I shall keep it until after dinner.  Then we can talk it over at leisure.  It concerns all of us, even John.”

“I don’t see how I am to wait,” said Leila.

“You will have to.”

Ann made an effort to meet the tone of gaiety in her husband’s talk, and when the wine was set before him, he said, “Now, Ann, a glass—­and Leila, ‘To our good news and good luck—­and to John.’”

They followed him into the library, and being in sacrificial mood, Ann filled a pipe, lighted a match, and said, “I want you to smoke, James.”

“Not yet, dear.  Sit down.”

“No, I want to stand.”  She stood beside the fire, a little lady, with an arm around the waist of her niece.  The Squire seated was enjoying the suspense of his eager audience.

“You know, dear Ann, that for two years or more the mills have been without large orders.  We have been in the most embarrassing situation.  Our debts”—­he was about to say, ’in the South’—­“unpaid.  I had to ask you to help us.”

This was news to Leila.  “Why mention that, James?” said her aunt.

“Well, we long ago lessened our force.  To shut down entirely was ruin, but when we met to-day we were to decide whether it was honest to borrow more money and stagger on, or as I thought, honourable to close the mills and realize for our creditors all we could.”