Betty hugged and kissed her, and declared it was dreadful to think of the scenes she had witnessed; and then she ran to her husband and cuddled in his arms, putting her hand over his lips when he attempted to tell her of the defeat. “I won’t hear it,” she cried. “I don’t care if they all did run. I’d a thousand times rather that, than to have you brought home to me dead or wounded. I am tremendously thankful you didn’t give them a chance to shoot you. I am so thankful that I cannot consider anything else.” “I believe I agree with you,” Lettice joined in. “What do you think of it, Aunt Martha?” “I think he could do no less, under the circumstances. It was not his fault that there was a retreat, and he would have been foolish to stand up alone and defy the entire British army.” At which they all laughed and settled down composedly to hear Lettice’s story. Danny curled himself up in one corner, all alert for thrilling adventures, and Mrs. Flynn stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other thoughtfully manipulating her chin as she listened. “An’ now tell ’em your bit o’ news, ma’am,” she said, turning to Mrs. Tom Hopkins, when Lettice had finished her tale. “We’ve heard from Joe,” Aunt Martha told them. “Oh!” Lettice sprang to her feet. “Where is he?” “In Dartmoor Prison, poor fellow; and that is almost worse than to hear of his death, for it is doubtful if he will ever get out alive.” “How did you hear?” “Through a fellow-prisoner, who made his escape, and who promised, should he succeed in getting away, that he would get word to us of Tom’s whereabouts. We are all working, and my brother is using his influence to get an exchange.” “Would you tell Patsey?” “I think I would not, just yet--not till we are a little surer that our plans can be carried out.” “Have you anything to tell me?” asked Betty, as she came into Lettice’s room that night at bedtime. “William has told me that you saw much of Mr. Baldwin, and that you left him but yesterday.” “So we did--but, oh, Betty, he cannot go back into the service, because he has lost his left hand with a part of his arm, and he has no money; and, besides, he wouldn’t ask me if he had, for he doesn’t think a man maimed and without a profession of some kind would have a right to do it.” “Neither would he. But never mind, my love, I wouldn’t make myself unhappy over it; love finds a way. And would you take your Yankee lad single-handed?” “Now, Betty, you will joke. Yes,”--she hid her face on Betty’s shoulder,--“I would, I really would.” “I said you would be a New Englander yet. I shall have to hand you over to Aunt Martha to-morrow and let her teach you how to bake beans.” “But there’s no need. You see, he’ll not ask for me.” “Nonsense; wait till the war is over. What about Robert Clinton, Lettice?” “What about him?” “Yes; you don’t care one wee little bit for him?” “No, no, no!” “Does your--what is his name?--Ellicott know that?”