Askew rose. "Please to send up the Drs. McGregor. May I make use of another room?"

"Yes, of course."

Ann Penhallow found Dr. Tom and his father on the porch with Leila and John. She said, "Take the doctors up to my own room, Leila, and I want to talk with John-there are some arrangements to make."

Leila, guiltily conscious of her share in securing the surgeon's interview with her aunt, was glad to accept the hint and the chance to escape.

Ann sat down beside John, and said, "John, why did you trick me into a talk with Dr. Askew?"

"Because, aunt, you said you would not see him-and it was necessary."

"You took me too literally."

"I took you at your word-something had to be done. If it fails, we are no worse off."

"But it may fail-oh! what if it does, John."

"Aunt Ann, I am in despair. Listen to me; no, I must talk it out. The agreement with uncle's old partners ended with the war. Things at the mills are in confusion-what is to be done? I asked Uncle Jim to give me a power of attorney to act for him. He refused. You supported him. Delay is ruinous, and yet we can do nothing. You are vexed with me-Yes-you have not given me my morning kiss for days. Leila is unreasonably angry with me because that dreadful night I did the only thing possible in my power to stop my uncle. I am most unhappy. I sometimes think I had better go away and look for work as an engineer, and-you did love me once." He rose and walked up and down the porch silent; he had emptied mind and heart. Then he paused before her. She was crying, as she said, "Don't reproach me, John-I can't bear it-I have had to bear too much to-day-and you were so naughty." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "John," she said, "there is to be an operation to-morrow. It is terrible. May the good G.o.d be kind to him and us. Now go away-I want to be alone. See that Dr. Askew is well cared for."

"Certainly, Aunt Ann." He had won his battle.

At dinner the doctor was at pains to dispel the gloom which, as he well knew, falls on those who love when one of the critical hours of life approaches. When they left the table he went into the library with the doctors and John, where they smoked many pipes and talked war.

At breakfast next day Askew's account of his early morning drew a smile even from Ann Penhallow. "Sleep! Yes, I suppose I slept. There was a blank of some hours. I am apt to waken early. At dawn there was a bright red-eyed sky, then it clouded as if the eyes had shut. A little later Miss Grey rode away on a chestnut horse. I walked through your garden and an unseen lady gave me this rose-bud. I had a joyful swim. As I came back I saw Captain Penhallow ride away-and why not with you, Miss Grey? You may perceive that I am a dangerous man to entertain. If you do not prefer better society, may I ask to ride with you to-morrow?"

"What better society?" asked Leila.

"Oh, Miss Grey, alone-by herself."

The two young people understood the charitable gaiety of his talk, but although one of them at least was feeling a sudden access of relief the quick jesting chat and laughter became distressing to Ann Penhallow. At last she rose and excused herself, saying, "Another cup? My niece will give it to you."

"One moment," he returned-his face became grave. "I shall operate early this morning. You must go out-of-doors-the porch-I suggest the porch. I shall send down Dr. McGregor to tell you frankly the result of my operation. I want Captain Penhallow, and with him and the two McGregors we shall care for my patient. I hope the doctors will let you see the Colonel in a week. I shall trespa.s.s on your hospitality for two days more."

"I could wish it were a week. I shall do precisely what you desire."

John Penhallow caught some signal of amused surprise in Leila's looks. He checked his own smile of partnership in mirth at Ann Penhallow's sudden subjugation, feeling that with Leila the intimacies of mirth were at an end.

Ann took her knitting and went out upon the back porch. "How many rows can I knit until I hear? No, Leila-I want to be alone. Here is a note from Mr. Rivers. The Bishop met him at Harrisburg and carried him off to Philadelphia. I hope there is no scheme to take him away. Now go, dear." She heard the voices of the McGregors as they went upstairs. She sat alone and waited.

Among the friends who know me only through my summer-born books, there must be many who can recall such hours of suspense as Ann Penhallow endured. The clock in the hall struck ten. A little later her keen sense made her aware of the faint odour of ether from the open windows on the second floor. She let fall her work, went down the garden path, and walked with quick steps among the firstlings of June. Then came Tom McGregor swiftly, and in his smiling face she read good news.

"It is all right," he said; "it is over. There was a fracture of the fragile inner layer of the bone-a piece was pressing on the brain-it was easily removed. The doctor is very much pleased. Oh, my dear Mrs. Penhallow, there are better days ahead for you and him. Now, I must go back."

"Thank G.o.d!" she said, "and-and you-and-John. G.o.d forgive me, I have been a fool!"

The next two days went by without incident. Askew rode, walked, and had no news for her except, "He is doing well." He would say no more. What hours of doubt, of watchful fear, he had, she never knew. On the morning of the third day, while the carriage waited to carry him away, Mrs. Penhallow led him into her library.

"Now," she said, with her cheque-book open before her, "we owe you a debt none can pay, but let me offer you my most humble apologies for my behaviour when you came."

"Please, don't," he returned.

"But I had to. And now, let me know what is our lesser and more material debt?"

He rose, smiling. "It has been my happy, unbroken rule to take nothing from any soldier who served in this sad war-oh! on either side. I have made, I hope, some friends. The Colonel asked to-day about a horse Dixy-I think-and when could he ride. You may imagine my pleasure. He will get well, but you must be patient. I leave him in competent hands, and in the fall I mean to come back and shoot your woodc.o.c.ks. Good-bye." He was gone.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

A week later Ann Penhallow was told that she might see her husband. She entered his bedroom with timidity. "Oh, Ann, my most dear Ann!" he cried, as she kissed him. His expression of recovered intelligence overcame her for a moment.

She faltered, "How are you feeling, James-any better?"

"Better-I am well."

"Hardly, dear-do be careful." She was unable to accept as a wholesome reality this amazing resurrection of a mind.

He understood her need for some rea.s.surance, and said, "Don't worry about me, Ann. It is like a vague dream, all these many months-but a dream you know fades fast. My own memories get clearer-some things are quite lost-some are as distinct as if they happened yesterday. The war is a puzzle to me-and-if I try to remember, it confuses me. But I must not talk war to you-I do remember that. I won't do it again, dear."

There was something so childlike in this that it almost overcame the woman's steadily guarded calm. She had been warned to be careful that there should be no excitement to agitate a mind which was slowly groping its way out of the shadows of half-illumined memories.

"Oh, my dear James," she said quietly, "talk of war or anything; it is over." Despite her cautious command of her voice it trembled with emotion as she said, "Nothing is of any moment but you-you. What do I care for the war or-or anything but to have you as you were? Oh, my G.o.d! I am thankful."

It disturbed him, as she saw. He felt and looked puzzled as he said, "I see-I am not quite clear-headed yet, Ann."

"No, but you will be. Don't try too hard, James. We must be patient and wait."

"I will-I will-and it is such a relief to have no pain and to see you."

Then as he asked about Leila and the mill work, the younger doctor came in and said, "Time is up, Mrs. Penhallow."

"What-already, Tom?"

"But I want to know more," said the Colonel. "Wasn't there a rummage-sale-"

"Yes; but now you must let Mrs. Penhallow go. You are mending daily. To-morrow Mrs. Penhallow may come again, and there will be to-morrow, and many happy to-morrows." She went out and downstairs singing in a low sweet voice-a long lost habit.

If to watch with an aching heart the hopeless decay of a mind be the most distressing of all human trials, surely there can be few greater joys than to see a disordered intellect emerge day by day into possession of its long lost capacities. James Penhallow was soon able to sign a power of attorney enabling John to reconstruct the old partnership with his own name added to the firm.

Very soon town and county shared in the growth of prosperity which followed the war. Rivers was the only one who was not what his friends desired, and never was his melancholy mood more noticeable.

The master of Grey Pine was, of course, many months in recovering his normal state of mind. The man's bodily strength had not been seriously impaired, and the return of his natural gaiety and his eager resumption one by one of his old habits filled his home with that cheerfulness which is the relieving and precious gift of convalescence. Penhallow's remembrances of the war were rapidly recovered as he talked to John, but much of his recent life was buried in the strange graveyard of memory, which gave up no reminding ghosts of what all who loved the man feared might haunt him.

When satisfied of the certainty of his uncle's recovery John Penhallow hurt by Leila's continual coldness and seeing for it no reasonable explanation gave more and more time to the mills in which the family fortunes were so seriously concerned. On the first of September he was glad to go away on business which carried him to several of the large cities, and resulted in orders which would keep the works busy for many months. He no longer wrote to Leila, nor did he expect letters from her. He considered any nearer relation than friendship to be at an end, but to lose that also seemed to him a quite too needlessly cruel loss, and now for the first time on returning he approached Grey Pine without pleasure. He had telegraphed to have a horse sent to meet him at Westways Crossing, that he might ride on to the mills after seeing his uncle.

Having taken the night train, it was about noon when Leila saw him coming up the avenue. She went forward to the roadside and as he sat in the saddle shook his hand, saying, "I am sorry you were delayed, John. You will be disappointed to know that Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann left home yesterday." She wished that he had not quite so clearly shown the limits of his regret, as he said quietly, "Well, I shall miss them, of course."

"A letter from aunt's brother, Henry Grey, asked them to visit him at the old Maryland home. I think it both pleased and surprised Aunt Ann. I am to join them later. Josiah is to matronize me-or, if you like, patronize me. Uncle Jim was delighted to be asked and hopes to reconcile the brothers. Henry's letter was very kind, but he is still suffering from his wound. Of course, Aunt Ann was happy."

He looked down at the upturned face as he sat in the saddle. She had given him no warm word of personal welcome. "Well, it can't be helped. I had much to talk over with uncle." Then he laughed.