“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Baldwin.”
“You look pale, and scarce as sunny and blithe as I remember. But I recall that you have passed through deep waters since I saw you.”
The tears gathered in Lettice’s eyes, and one fell on the golden head pillowed on her arm.
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.
“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.”