She looked after him pitifully as he went up the stairs.  “Surely,” she thought, “we have paid dearly our debt to the country.”

He came down at six o’clock, still in his undress uniform, but thinking that his aunt would not like it.  In a day or two he would have the civilian clothes he had ordered in Philadelphia.  He need have had no such anxiety; she was indifferent to all but her husband, who sat at table speechless, while Leila and John too consciously manufactured talk of the home and the mills—­and the ending of the war.  After the meal Ann began her patient efforts to interest the Colonel with a game of cards and then of backgammon.  It seemed only to make him irritable, and he said at last, “I think I must go to bed.”

“Certainly, dear.”  She went with him upstairs, saying, “Good-night, children.”

“She will not return, John.  This is what goes on day after day.”

“It is very sad—­I did not fully comprehend his condition.”

“He is often far worse, and complains of his head or is resolutely—­I should say obstinately—­bent on some folly, such as walking to the mills and advising them.  Aunt Ann never contradicts him—­what he wants, she wants.  Not the most reasonable opposition is of any use.”

“Does he never ride, Leila?”

“Never, and is vexed when Dr. McGregor calls to see him and advises a consultation.  Once we had a distressing outbreak.”

“And yet,” said John, “there should have been other advice long ago.  Somehow there must be.”

“Mr. Rivers has urged it and made him angry; as for Aunt Ann, she sees only the bright side of his case and humours him as she would a sick child.”

“She is greatly changed, Leila.  I hardly know how to state it.  She has a look of—­well, of something spiritual in her face.”

“Yes, that is true.  Are you in pain, John?” she added.

“Yes—­not in great pain, but enough.  For two weeks I did suffer horribly.”

“John!  Oh, my poor Jack!  We never knew—­is it so bad?”

“Yes, imagine a toothache in your elbow with a variety of torments in the whole arm.”

“I can’t imagine.  I never had a toothache—­in fact, I hardly know the sensation of serious pain.”

“Well, I broke down under it, Leila.  I became depressed and quite foolishly hopeless.  Some day I will tell you what helped me out of a morass of melancholy.”

“Tell me now.”

“No, I must go to bed.  I am getting better and will get off with a stiff elbow, so Tom says.  At first they talked of amputation.  That was awful.  Good-night!”

It was none too soon.  She was still unsure of herself, and although no word of tender approach had disturbed her as he talked, and she was glad of that, the tense look of pain, the reserve of his hospital confession of suffering nearly broke down her guarded attitude.  As he passed out of view at the turn of the stairs, she murmured, “Oh, if only Uncle Jim were well.”