“You want to see how dull an evening can be—for we are in no case to be merry,” she said.
“I want to show you how we spend the intervals of suspense on the frontier—how we pass the time as best we may—and hold up our hearts.”
“But we did not bargain for this—for suspense—on the frontier,” plained Arabella. “Did we, Aunt Claudia?”
The fur head of the little animal in advance wagged in earnest corroboration. “They told me the war was over,” she said, without turning, “—and me—so timid!”
“You have nothing but your unfounded fears to frighten you,” he urged. “There is no danger—nothing to frighten you—nothing threatening. You are not used to the manners of the Indians, that is all!”
“Manners! they have no manners, drat ’m!” exclaimed Mrs. Annandale, remembering the marred melody of the boat-song.
“You have not been here to agonize over Captain Howard even when there was real war,” he persisted.
“Ah, but we couldn’t realize how strange—how uncertain—how dangerous, till we see something of it!” Arabella declared.
“You see nothing of it—this is absolutely nothing.”
“Why, I tremble to think even of the others,” said Arabella, and Mrs. Annandale had a sudden recollection of the distant figure of Raymond in a gallant pose as he stood in the bow of the foremost boat, taking off his cocked hat and bowing low to Arabella as he glimpsed her standing by the cannon at the embrasure, while the boat passed slowly beyond the range of the bastion.