“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?”