in some men who have not the mere brute courage of the bull-dog is apt to follow for many hours the escape from a great danger.  The boylike mischief of his letter was in part due to some return of the cheerful mood which possessed him after the morning’s risks.  He went out to question the night of the weather.  As he looked over the snow and then up at the mighty clock-work of the stars, he responded slowly to the awe this silentness of immeasurable forces was apt to produce; a perfect engine at the mills in noiseless motion always had upon him the same effect.  As he moved, his knee reminded him of the morning’s escape.  When he rode away from the bridge, with attentions from the enemy’s pickets following and came near the waiting colonel, his horse came down and like his rider suffered for the fall on frozen ground.

There was just then for a time less work than usual for the engineers, and he had begun to feel troubled by the fact that two weeks had gone by since Leila wrote, without a home letter.  Then it came and was brief: 

“DEAR JOHN:  I have truly no better and no worse news to send about dear Uncle Jim and this saddened home.  To be quite frank with you, your letter made me realize what is hardly felt as here in our home we become used to war news.  I thought less of your mischievous attempt to torment my curiosity than of your personal danger, and yet I know too well what are the constant risks in your engineer duties, for I have found among Uncle Jim’s books accounts of the siege of Sevastopol.  As to your naughty ending, I do not care who the man was—­why should I?  I doubt if you really know.

“I am,
Your seriously indifferent
LEILA GREY.

“P.S.  I am ashamed to admit that I reopened my letter to tell you I fibbed large. Please not to tease me any more.”

He replied at once: 

“DEAR LEILA:  I am off to the front as usual.  The man was Henry Grey.  An amazing encounter!  I had never seen him, as you may know.  I did not wait to reply to him because the Rebel pickets were not so considerate as their colonel.  I recalled Uncle Jim’s casual mention of Henry Grey as a rather light-minded, quixotic man.  I am glad he is, but imagine what a tragedy failed to materialize because two men were awkward with the pistol.  But what a strange meeting too!  It is not the only case.  A captain I know took his own brother prisoner last month; the Rebel would not shake hands with him.  Do not tell Aunt Ann—­or rather, do what seems best to you.  I trust you, of course.  The encounter made me want to know your uncle in some far-off happier day.

“In haste, Yours,

“JOHN PENHALLOW.”

CHAPTER XXIX

When late in March Grant about to move left the engineer brigade at City Point, the need to corduroy the rain-soaked roads called some of the corps to the front, and among them John Penhallow.  As usual when unoccupied they were set free to volunteer for staff duty.  It thus chanced that Penhallow found himself for a time an extra aide to General John Parke.