“Firstly, I must see my army, which is composed of one man, Philip Lindsay. Secondly, we must call on the citadel to surrender. Your father is not aware that Mr. Lindsay may be his prospective son-in-law. He must be enlightened.”
“There will be an awful row,” declared Nancy, unconsciously reverting to the slang of a dismayed schoolgirl.
“The capture of a stronghold is usually accompanied by noise and clamor. What matter, so long as it yields?”
“And afterward?”
“Afterward, like every prudent general, I shall be guided by events. Come, now; we’ll go down to the beach, and you shall dab your eyes with salt-water.”
“Is that a recipe to cure red eyes?”
“It’s an excuse for blue ones showing a red tint.”
The girl smiled pathetically. “Somehow,” she said, “I always feel comforted after a talk with you. You haven’t known it, Mr. Power; for I have been forced to conceal my troubles; but every time we meet you send me away in a more assured frame of mind.”
She, in turn, did not know that he winced as if she had struck him. Truly, he was paying a heavy reckoning for the frenzy and passion of those far-off days in the Adirondacks, and, worst of all, the seeming ashes of that ardent fire threatened to blaze out anew.
As they walked back to the village they encountered a well-dressed man, a stranger. By this time Power was so thoroughly acquainted with the little hamlet’s inhabitants that he recognized some by name and all by sight; but this man was unknown to him.