that I shall be sent to the field on errands
of mercy and helpfulness. We may meet again. And now, take with you the
earnest will to render unto God what things He gave for His highest uses.
Now let us offer the prayer for the volunteers our great Bishop desires
the Church to use. Let us pray."

In unusual silence the congregation moved away, a silence shared by Leila
and her uncle. At last she said, "Uncle Jim, I wish Aunt Ann could have
heard that sermon--it could not have hurt her."

"Perhaps not."

"I wonder why she has so great a respect for him, so real a friendship.
He thinks slavery the sin of sins. He has very little charity about
it--oh, none--and Aunt Ann is as sure it is a divinely appointed
relation."

"They fought it out, my dear, in his early days at Westways, and when
they both found that they were clad in the armour of changeless beliefs
no arguments could penetrate, they gave up and took of two fine natures
what was left for life's uses and became friends. At least, that is how
McGregor put it. He sometimes states things well."

"I see," said Leila thoughtfully, and set herself to thinking whether if
she had radical differences of opinion with some one, she could settle
into a condition of armed neutrality. Then she wondered if war made
changes in the character of a man.

Presently she asked, "Why, Uncle Jim, are you suddenly in such haste to
go?"

"There is need of haste. I could not tell Ann; I can tell you. We were
never worse off since the war began. The Governor asks me to meet him
in Harrisburg. What he fears is that in September Lee will cross the
Potomac, with the hope of Maryland rising. Our Governor will call out
fifty thousand militia. He wants me to take a command; I shall take it,
but Lee's veterans would brush our militia away like summer flies. If he
finds the Army of the Potomac before him, there may be a different story.
I hope, please God, to be with it. There you have all I know, but it is
for you alone. My regiment will go to the front before the end of the
month."

"You will write to me, uncle."

"Yes, when I can. Your aunt asks me to write often, but not to write
about the war, as if--well, no matter. But I can write to you. Good
night--and be brave, dear--and Ann! You will watch over her?"

"Yes, surely."

* * * * *

Ann Penhallow having sorrowfully made up her mind that her husband's
honour required his return to the army saw to it