Every attention was now paid to him, for Captain Sherwood had become a great favorite with all since his first entering the fort. The surgeon was summoned immediately to dress his wound, and the cooks of the garrison vied with each other in serving up their best dish for the gallant officer in the quickest possible time. The ladies offered their services also, but the captain declared that he would not have any thing more done for him. He was as well as any of them, he said, having partaken of a good dinner, and to prove this, he marched to the mess-room and spent the remainder of the afternoon in assisting the fair ones arranging the hall for the evening entertainment.
And now, dear reader, while our hero is there amusing himself, let us transport ourselves from the fort to a pretty, white cottage, which stands half-way down the side of a large hill three miles in the distance.
It was near sunset. A sunset more brilliant than common. The western sky was filled with masses of colored clouds, on which gold and purple and blue mingled together in gorgeous magnificence; and in which the eye of the beholder could not fail to note the outlines of strange forms, and fancy them bright and glorious beings of another world. It was a picture to gladden the eye, to give joy to the heart that was sad, and make happier the happy.
All this beauty was not unobserved. Eyes were dwelling upon it—beautiful eyes—and yet there was a sadness in their look, that ill-accorded with the picture on which they were gazing. Though apparently regarding the sunset, the thoughts which gave them expression were drawn from a far different source. The heart within was dwelling upon another object.
The owner of those eyes was a beautiful girl, or rather a fully-developed woman. She was tall and majestic, of soft graces and waving outlines. The lady was Imogene Lear. She was walking backward and forward in a little garden at the back of the house, as if waiting for the arrival of some one.
Every now and then her eyes sought the grove of cedars at the foot of the inclosure, through whose slender trunks gleamed the silvery surface of a stream. Upon this spot they rested from time to time, with an expression of strange interest. No wonder that to those eyes that was an interesting spot—it was there where love’s first vows had been uttered and two young hearts plighted forever.
Often as she gazed at this place a look of sadness would steal over her face as if some thought were flying through her brain that was unpleasant, and it brought with it clouds upon her brow, and imparted an air of uneasiness. What was that thought?
Ah! a stern father caused it. No longer could she meet that lover, who had rendered this grove sacred, openly as in former times, but was obliged to resort to deceit and have their interviews in secret.
Sometimes she had been half tempted to forsake her home and go with Edgar Sherwood. But no, she could not do that; sober thought always brought her back to reason, and she would determine again to stay by him and tend him in his old age, for she was his only child and comfort, and then before this trouble he had ever been very kind to her and undoubtedly, ere long, he would relent and give his consent to her marriage with Edgar.
Such were the thoughts she consoled herself with.