ll--I must. There are limitations I cannot talk of even--above all
to you. Your aunt knows this--and your uncle did--long ago."

"What limitations?" she asked rashly.

"You are the last person, Leila Grey, to whom I could speak of them. I
have said too much, but"--and he paused--"I am tired--I will leave you to
finish your walk." The great beautiful eyes turned on him for a moment.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, and reproaching his brief human weakness left
her abruptly, walking slowly away through the drifting red and gold of
leaves rocking in air as they sauntered to earth, and was at last lost to
view in the woodland.

Leila stood still, puzzled and sorrowful, as she watched the tall
stooping form. "How old he looks," she murmured. "What did he mean? I
must ask Aunt Ann." But she never did, feeling that what he had said was
something like a cautiously hinted confession. In the early morning he
was gone again to the field of war.

CHAPTER XXVI

Through the winter of 1863-4 at Grey Pine things remained unaltered, and
McGregor concluded that there was no hope for happier change. Rare
letters came from John Penhallow to his aunt, who sent no replies, and to
Leila, who wrote impersonal letters, as did John. Once he wrote that his
uncle might like to know, that after that pontoon business in the night
at Chattanooga and General Farrar Smith's brilliant action, he, John
Penhallow, was to be addressed as _Captain_. As the war went on, he was
across the Rapidan with Grant in May.

At Grey Pine after breakfast the windows and both doors of the hall were
open to let the western breezes enter. They lingered in the garden to
stir the mothers of unborn flowers and swept through the hall, bearing as
they passed some gentle intimation of the ending of a cold spring.

The mail had been given to the colonel, as he insisted it should be. With
some appearance of interest he said, "From Mark, for you, Ann."

"None for me, Uncle?" asked Leila, as she went around the table. "Let me
help you. How many there are." She captured her own share, and for a
moment stood curious as she sorted the mail. "Army trash, Uncle! What a
lot of paper is needed to carry on war! Here is one--I have seen him
before--he is marked 'Respectfully referred.'"

The colonel released a smile, which stirred Ann like a pleasant memory,
and fed one of the little hopes she was ever on the watch to find. "What
is your letter, Ann?" he asked.

Looking up she