The young man viewed her sympathetically. “I wish I could have spared you such a grief,” he said gently. “Believe me, I feel it deeply. We were companions in great peril, Miss Lettice, and I cannot feel that we are the strangers our short acquaintance would seem to suggest. Will you not tell me all that has befallen you since we met? I have heard only fragmentary reports.” “I must take baby in, and then I will tell you,” she responded. [Illustration: “_How he has grown!_”] “Let me take him,” cried the young man, eagerly. And as gently as possible he lifted the sleeping boy in his arms, touching his lips softly to the fine, pink little cheek, and the act won Lettice’s favor more than a deed of valor could have done. Over her sad little face broke a smile, and she looked up with such a glance that the young man hummed softly to himself, “‘From the glance of her eye shun danger and fly.’ Where shall I take him, Miss Lettice?” “In here on this couch, and then come speak to Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. We all want to hear the war news. Mr. Weeks, you know, lost an arm in the Revolution, and frets that he cannot go fight the British now. He is always very eager for news.” “Then I will satisfy his eagerness as well as I can.” They found Betty’s father in the spacious sitting-room. He was a fine-looking old gentleman, gray-haired and erect. Near him sat Mrs. Weeks; she was much younger than her husband, being his second wife and the mother of Betty, whose half-brothers and sisters were all married and living in homes of their own. Betty stood behind her father’s chair. She was arranging his cue, for he still clung to the fashions of half a century before, and to either Betty or Lettice fell the daily duty of tying the cue he wore. “Mr. Baldwin has just come from the city,” Lettice announced. “And brings news, no doubt. Welcome, Mr. Baldwin.” The old man sprang to his feet, and with his left hand gripped the strong right one of the young officer. “Well, sir, we’re sitting here pining for news. What is the latest?” “The best is, that Jackson has ended the war with the Creeks.” “Good! Jackson’s a great man; would there were more like him in this fight against England! What next?” “We’ve had some reverses in Canada, sir, but--” “But we don’t give up, eh? No, sir, we do not. We may see the country running red with blood, but we’ll hold on, at least we Southerners will; we’ve inherited enough of the bulldog from England to do that. I suppose Massachusetts is still fussing and fuming and threatening to secede.”