of
their household law.

"Of course I read it. I knew it must be about James." Leila made no
reply, but did not like it.

"Here it is, my dear. I fear James is in a more serious state than I was
led to believe by their first letters. There is also a letter from John
to you." She did not ask to see it, and Leila took both missives and
presently went away to the stables. Even John, as was plain, was
forgotten in her aunt's anxiety in regard to her husband.

Her many errands over, Leila riding slowly through the lonely wood-roads
read the letters:

"My Dear Leila," wrote Rivers, "you had better let your aunt know that
the Colonel's wound must have so shocked the brain, though there is no
fracture, as to have left him in a mental state which gives me the utmost
anxiety. You will sadly realize my meaning when you see him. Be careful
how you tell your aunt.

"Yours truly,

"MARK RIVERS."

Here indeed was trouble. Leila's eyes filled and tears fell on the paper.
She rode on deep in thought, and at last securing the message of calamity
in her belt opened John's letter.

"I write you, dear Leila, from my tent near Vicksburg, this 5th of July.
The prisoners from Pemberton's army are passing as I write. Our men are
giving them bread and tobacco, and there is no least sign of enmity or
triumph. I am pretty well worn out, as the few engineers have been worked
hard and the constant nearness of death in the trenches within five to
one hundred feet of the Rebel lines was a situation to make a man
think--not of course while in immediate danger, but afterwards. I had
some narrow escapes--we all had. But, dear Leila, it has been a splendid
thing to see how this man Grant, with the expressionless face, struck
swiftly one army after another and returned to secure his prey.

"I cannot even now get a leave of absence, and I am beyond words anxious
to hear about dear Uncle Jim. Just a line from him makes me think he was
to be with General Meade and in that great battle we won. A telegram to
the Engineers' Camp, Vicksburg, will relieve me.

"It is unlikely, if we go South, that I shall see you for many a day. All
leaves are, I find, denied. War--intense war like this--seems to me to
change men in wonderful ways. It makes some men bad or reckless or
drunkards or hard and cruel; it makes others thoughtful, dutiful and
religious. This is more often the case among the men than you may think
it would be. Certainly it does age a fellow f