“I shall not go. So the colonel need not trouble himself.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE DISCOVERY.
At this last exhibition of insubordination, every one fancied that the commander’s temper would once more break out. But, to the surprise of all, Clark remained quite calm, and took no notice of it. He ushered his other officers to the door with his usual courtesy, and attended them to the head of the stairs, whence he watched them go out with father Gibault.
Then he turned to the sentry at the door, and said:
“Move your post to the head of the stairs, and let no one up. If you hear any noise in my room, however loud, take no notice. Let no one pass in or out without my orders.”
The backwoods soldier nodded his comprehension, and the colonel re-entered his room, where, as he had expected, he found Adjutant Frank, still in his chair, which he had drawn to the table, on which rested his small feet with all the coolness in the world.
The little adjutant wore a hunting-shirt of fine blue cloth, with gold fringes to replace the usual buck-skin ornaments; his leggins were of white doe-skin, fringed with gold; and the white moccasin, that fitted his little foot like a glove, was sewed with gold thread. Altogether, a very natty little officer of rangers was Adjutant Frank, as he sat playing with a little blue velvet cap with a gold tassel, and whistling “Malbrook.”
Clark stood at the door, looking at him for several minutes. The lad’s back was turned to him, and the white peruke, which he generally wore, was now off, allowing the curls of a wonderful mass of long black hair to escape over his shoulders.
Clark looked at him long and earnestly, and as he looked, he gave an involuntary sigh. The boy was of a wonderful beauty and grace, he could not help admitting, even with all the fierce jealousy and anger that was gnawing at his heart. But the iron colonel had taken a resolution, and he was not to be turned from it by pity.