“And where have you been junketing, Miss?” she demanded.
“I have been finding corn for the garrison,” Arabella replied, demurely. “I have brought in a whole pettiaugre load.”
Mrs. Annandale lifted her gaze to the animated aspect of the parade. A fog hung low, but through it was heard the continual tramp of hoofs, and now and again a laden animal passed swiftly, more than one sending forth shrill neighs of content, obviously aware of the value of this replenishment of the larder and recognizing it as for their own provision. Across the parade and beyond the barracks in the stable precincts lights were flickering and lanterns swaying. One of the large sheds was to serve as granary, and the sound of hammers and nails gave token of some belated arrangements there for the provender.
“And did you think I should be satisfied with that bit of a message that your father sent me through the sentinel at the gate—that he had taken you with him amongst the Indians! Sure, I have had fits on fits!”
“’Twas but to keep in practice, Aunt Claudia,” Arabella retorted. “Sure, you could not be afraid that papa is not able to take care of me!”
Mrs. Annandale, in doleful eclipse, looked sourly at Raymond.
“With this gentleman’s worshipful assistance,” she snapped.
“I am always at her service—and at yours, madam,” said Raymond. He bowed profoundly, his cocked hat in his hand almost swept the ground. Mervyn still watching, though the dusk strained his eyes, had little reason to grudge his rival the colloquy that looked so pretty and gracious at the distance.
He contrived to meet Raymond that night in the mess-hall. The dinner was concluded; the place almost deserted, the quarter-master being at the improvised granary, and Jerrold and Innis both on extra duty, the ensign having charge of the pettiaugre still lying half unloaded at the bank, and the lieutenant keeping a cautious surveillance on the parties sent out and their return with the precious commodity.
Raymond had taken down a bow and gayly decorated quiver from the wall, and was examining them critically by the light of the candles on the table. There was a glow of satisfaction on his face and the bright radiance of gratulation in his eyes, for the weapons designed for a royal hand were even more beautiful, and curious, and rare than he had thought; the bow, elastic and strong, wrought to the smoothness of satin, the wood showing an exquisite veining, tipped at each end with polished and glittering quartz, the arrows similarly finished, and winged with scarlet flamingo feathers, the quiver a mass of bead embroideries with dyed porcupine quills and scarlet fringes.