“Raymond’s mission is not one of aggression,” he said. “I have thrown what safe-guards I could about him. I trust and I believe he will be safe if he conducts properly.”
“And what is his mission, sir?” asked Arabella.
“Do you expect me to tell you that when he does not know it himself?” said her father, laughing. “He is not to open his sealed instructions till he reaches Choté, Old Town.”
Arabella’s eyes were wide with dismayed wonder. To her this seemed all the more terrible. To thrust one’s head into the lion’s jaws, not knowing whether the beast is caged or free, ravenous or sated, trained or wild. She said as much to Ensign Raymond himself, when after candle-light he came in to pay his devoirs and take a formal farewell of the household. He was in great spirits, flushed and hilarious—very merry indeed when he found that Arabella was in much perturbation because he, himself, was in the dark as to the tenor of his mission, and would be one hundred and fifty miles distant in the heart of the Cherokee country ere he discovered the nature of his duty.
“Suppose it proves contrary to your own views and wishes,” Arabella argued.
“A soldier must have no views and wishes contrary to his duty,” he laughed.
“But suppose you find it is impossible!”
“I have too much confidence in the commandant to believe he would set me an impossible task.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” interpolated Mrs. Annandale, who was benign, almost affectionate in her manner toward him, now that she was about to be rid of this handsome marplot, who did as much damage to her darling scheme by the unholy influence his presence exerted on Mervyn’s temper as by his own magnetic personality. “Poor dear Brother was always a visionary.”
Raymond burst out laughing at the idea of the commandant as a dreamer of dreams. “I have such faith in whatever visions he may entertain as to be certain they will materialize at Choté Great!”