t be at times a costly luxury.--A costly necessity,"
she concluded, was better--that left no privilege of choice. She smiled,
dismissing the mental problem, and rode on full of anxiety for those she
loved and her unfortunate country. Our most profound emotions are for the
greater souls dumb and have no language if it be not that of prayer, or
the tearful overflow which means so much and is so mysteriously helpful.
She found both forms of expression when she knelt that night.

In the afternoon the refreshing upland coolness of evening followed on
the humid heat of a hot June day. Towards sunset Ann Penhallow, to her
niece's surprise, drew on her shawl and said she would like to walk
down to the little river. Any proposal to break the routine of a life
unwholesome in its monotony was agreeable to Leila. No talk of the war
was possible. When Ann Penhallow now more and more rarely and with effort
went on her too frequently needed errands of relief or consolation, the
village people understood her silence about the war, and accepting her
bounty somewhat resented an attitude of mind which forbade the pleasant
old familiarity of approach.

The life was unhealthy for Leila, and McGregor watched its influence with
affection and some professional apprehension. Glad of any change, Leila
walked with her aunt through the garden among the roses in which now her
aunt took no interest. They heard the catbirds carolling in the hedges,
and Ann thought of the day a year ago when she listened to them with
James Penhallow at her side. They reached in silence an open space above
the broad quiet backwater. Beyond a low beach the river flowed by, wide
and smooth, a swift stream. From the western side the sunset light fell
in widening shafts of scarlet across the water.

"Let us sit here," said the elder woman. "I am too weak to walk
further"--for her a strange confession. As they sat down on the mossy
carpet, Leila caught the passive hand of her aunt.

"I suppose you still swim here, every morning, Leila? I used to like
it--I have now no heart for anything."

Leila could only say, "Why not, aunt?"

"How can you ask me! I think--I dream of nothing but this unnatural war."

"Is that wise, aunt? or as Dr. McGregor would say, 'wholesome'?"

"It is not; but I cannot help it--it darkens my whole life. Billy was up
at the house this morning talking in his wild way. I did not even try to
understand, but"--and she hesitated--"I suppose I had bet