"Oh, but I am sorry—and glad."
"Yes—yes—I must tell aunt at once. She has not left her room for two days, and I forbade the maids to talk of the victory until it was sure—now she must know all. I must tell her at once."
"Why not get Dr. McGregor?"
"No—no," she returned with decision. "I shall know best how to tell—it wants a woman."
The ruddy, stout post-mistress looked at the tall young woman with sudden appreciation of her self-command and mental growth. "Maybe you're about right, but I thought—well, fact is, I've seen of late so many people just tear open a letter—and go all to pieces."
Leila smiled. "You don't know my aunt. Now I must go. Oh, this war—this war! To-morrow will scatter joy and grief over all the land."
"Yes, I've been near about mobbed to-day. Good-bye."
The messenger of evil news went straight from the garden path, where the roses were in unusual abundance. To her surprise she saw her aunt on the back porch. As Leila hesitated, she said, "I saw Mrs. Crocker from my window, Leila. She gave you something—a letter—or a telegram. What is it? I suppose after what I have heard of the Confederates at York and Carlisle, they may be in Harrisburg by this time and the railroad to the west cut off. It may be well to know." She spoke rapidly as she came down the steps to meet her niece. "It is as well James Penhallow is not in it."
The two women stood facing one another in one of those immeasurably brief silences which are to timeless thought as are ages. Her husband safe, General Lee victorious—some slight look of satisfaction could be seen in her face—a faint smile, too easily read—and then—
"Well, dear, your news?"