"What—what! it cannot be—the daughter of my best and oldest friend, Colonel John Forester? I recollect his wife's name, whom I never saw, was Julia."
Julia Gordon blushed crimson as he spoke, and then in an instant turned as pale as ashes.
"My mother!" she gasped out, with a great exertion of the will compelling herself to speak at all. "My poor mother, I never saw her either, at least not within my recollection. Yes, Major Delacroix, I am Colonel John Forester's wild and wilful daughter. God bless him," she continued, a big tear swelling to her eye, "as he deserves a better child."
"Not so, not so, young lady. I am certain that it is not so. A brighter or more beautiful, he could not have, and it will be hard to convince me he could have a better, Lieutenant Gordon, allow me to shake your hand, and congratulate you; your father-in-law, and your sweet lady's father, was, I may say, to me more than a father; for, when Nature robbed me of both my parents, he supplied both their places. God bless John Forester, and all who love and honour him."
So thoroughly was the Partisan engrossed by his own warm and generous feelings, that he did not perceive at all, what would at any other time have been sufficiently apparent to a man of his keen and intuitive sagacity, that there was something of evident discomposure in the manner of the young officer as he spoke to him of his father-in-law.
The green carpet of the meadow was spread with their simple fair, and the Partisan did the honours of his camp with a singular blending of the frontiers-man's bluntness, and the easy manners of the gentleman and soldier.
There was, however, an inexplicable gloom hanging over the little party, and scarcely was the frugal meal ended before, on the pretext of weariness, the lady retired to her tent, and the husband went away for a few minutes, as he said, to inspect his sentries, while Pierre Delacroix filled his Indian pipe with kinnikinnick, and, stretching himself at full length on his blanket, in the warmth of the fire, rested his head on his elbow, and mused more deeply than he had done for many a year, rolling out all the time great volumes of the odoriferous smoke of that Indian mixture, which he had learned to prefer to the Havana.
[CHAPTER II.]
THE LIEUTENANT'S STORY.