Despite these arguments Captain Howard continued ill at ease, watchful of the weather, anticipating a renewal of snow or hopeful of tokens of thaw; eager to confer with any stray Indian, who Mervyn believed often came from no greater distance than the town of Keowee across the river; comparing reminiscences of distances and the situation of sundry notable Indian towns with veterans of the two campaigns during the previous years in the Cherokee country. In addition to the information of some of the garrison on this point, he was able to glean items from the very intimate knowledge of all that region possessed by the Reverend Mr. Morton, now contentedly installed at Fort Prince George, and holding forth at close intervals for the soul’s health of the soldiery. But even he had a thrust for the tender sensibilities of Captain Howard’s military conscience.
“Ensign Raymond,” he said, apropos of the mooted safe return of the expeditionary force, “is of a very impetuous and imperious nature. God grant that he be not hurried into any untoward and reckless course. We can but pray for him, sir.”
“Gad! I ought to have prayed beforehand,” exclaimed the commandant.
“And that is very true,” said the missionary.
But Captain Howard had not intended to be entrapped into confession, and he found Mr. Morton cheerless company in these days of suspense. For it was his faithful belief that a proper disposition of forces and munitions of war is calculated to induce Providence to fight on one’s side and an omission of these rules and precautions is wilful neglect of means of grace. He saw little of the minister in these days, but Mrs. Annandale professed herself vastly edified by the good man’s discourse, and kept him in conversation on one side of the fireplace while the two young people were ranged upon the other. Even the old man, inattentive to such matters, fell under the impression that the young lady and her cavalier seemed not a little disposed to bicker, and one evening when their voices were raised in spirited retort and counter-retort, Mrs. Annandale took occasion to say to him behind the waving feathers of her fan, that they were betrothed, and that their lovers’ quarrels wearied her out of all patience.
He inclined his head with its straggling wig, which Rolloweh, with courteous compliments, had punctiliously sent down from Little Tamotlee; in its shabby similitude to the furnishings of humanity it had the look of being of low spirits and maltreated, and as if in its natural estate it might have been the hair of some poor relation. Mr. Morton observed that he hoped the young people were fully aware of the transitory nature of earthly bliss.
“Oh, they know that fast enough—their snappings and snarlings are a proof of its transitory nature, if they had no other,” said Mrs. Annandale, sourly.
For Mervyn was not disposed to pass by, without an explanation, Arabella’s statement that she sometimes thought she was in love with Raymond.
“He is a presuming puppy!” declared Mervyn, angrily, breathlessly, looking at her with indignant eyes.
“I can’t see in what respect he presumes,” she stipulated. “He has never said a word of love to me.”