“'Tis all in the constitution, I tell you, child; Pathfinder is a younger man than half our subalterns.”
“He is certainly younger than one, sir—Lieutenant Muir.”
Mabel's laugh was joyous and light-hearted, as if just then she felt no care.
“That he is—young enough to be his grandson; he is younger in years, too. God forbid, Mabel, that you should ever become an officer's lady, at least until you are an officer's daughter!”
“There will be little fear of that, father, if I marry Pathfinder,” returned the girl, looking up archly in the Sergeant's face again.
“Not by the king's commission, perhaps, though the man is even now the friend and companion of generals. I think I could die happy, Mabel, if you were his wife.”
“Father!”
“'Tis a sad thing to go into battle with the weight of an unprotected daughter laid upon the heart.”
“I would give the world to lighten yours of its load, my dear sir.”
“It might be done,” said the Sergeant, looking fondly at his child; “though I could not wish to put a burthen on yours in order to do so.”