The rôle of patient which was enforced upon both Lettice and Mr. Baldwin was not altogether disagreeable to the pair. A couple of days was all the time that Mr. Baldwin would consent to remain in bed, and by that Lettice, too, was downstairs, looking, it is true, very pale and with blue shadows under her eyes, but quite herself otherwise. The knowledge of her night’s doings was kept a profound secret from all but her immediate family, although Aunt Martha and Rhoda were considered sufficiently discreet to be intrusted with an account of her adventures. It was James who told Rhoda about it, when he went over to make his farewells before going to join Barney’s flotilla, for he declared that he was in no mood for land service. “We can’t have every Tom, Dick, and Harry discussing Letty’s doings,” he said. “There are those just waiting for a chance to call her light and unmaidenly, travelling around alone in these times; although we, who know her, can impute it to nothing but pity and bravery. Besides, Cockburn and his men have such a name, that but to mention the fact of her having fallen into their hands, would give rise to exaggerated reports.” Rhoda nodded. “Yes, we who know her and love her would best say nothing about it. Lettice is a brave girl and a tender-hearted one, even if she is a bit too impulsive.” Jamie’s eyes beamed at this praise of his dearly loved sister from one who was always chary of her compliments; and when Rhoda expressed her determination to go at once to see Lettice, he gladly offered to be her escort. “I wish you were well out of here and safe in Boston,” he said. “With that terrible beast of a Cockburn infesting our shores, and every man feeling it his duty to be off with the militia, our homes are illy protected. Your father should not allow you to remain here.” Rhoda frowned, and half shut her eyes in a little haughty way that she had. “My father does what he thinks best. I do not dispute his judgment. He does not know, or is not willing to believe, the state of affairs down here.” Jamie made no response although he thought, “Nothing to his credit that it is so.” Lettice greeted Rhoda warmly. “It is good of you to come over to see this battered-up piece of humanity,” she said. “Am I not a decrepit?” She thrust out one bandaged foot as she stood holding to a chair. “Are you then so lame?” Rhoda asked with concern. “Yes, I am rather used up by sprains and bruises, but it is nothing serious, after all, and only demands that I keep quiet.” “Tell me about it,” Rhoda said abruptly, as she motioned Lettice to her place on the couch. And Lettice gave her a detailed account of her adventures, ending with, “And it was my very prettiest scarf, the silk one with many colored stripes that Uncle Tom brought me from Paris.” “How can you think of such slight things when it was all so serious?” Rhoda asked, in a puzzled tone.