“You are right,” replied the young officer, again passing her arm through his own, while they continued their route, “excess of happiness must not cause me to commit an imprudence so great, as that of suffering another to divine the extent. Yet one word more, dear Maria! and ah! think how much depends upon your answer. WHEN shall I call you mine?”
“Oh! speak not now of that, Ronayne—consider the position of my father—my mother's health.”
“It is for that very reason that I do ask it,” returned the youth. “Should Heaven deprive you of the one, as it in some degree threatens you with the loss of the other, what shall so well console you as the tenderness of him who is blessed with your love?”
“Hush, Harry,” and she fondly pressed his arm—“they will hear you.”
They had now approached the scow, into which the men, having previously deposited the furniture and trunks, were preparing to embark the litter upon which Mrs. Heywood lay extended, with an expression of resignation and repose upon her calm features, that touched the hearts of even these rude men. Her daughter, half-reproaching herself for not having personally attended to her transport, and only consoled by the recollection of the endearing explanation with her lover, which had chanced to result from her absence, now tenderly inquired how she had borne it, and was deeply gratified to find that the change of air, and gentle exercise to which she had been subjected, had somewhat restored her. Here was one source of care partly removed, and she felt, if possible, increased affection for the youth to whose considerate attention was owing this favorable change in the condition of a parent, whom she had ever fondly loved.
It was near sunset when Ronayne, who, with the robust Catherine, had carefully lifted the invalid into the centre of the scow, reached the landing-place below the Fort. Here were collected several of the women of the company, and among them Mrs. Elmsley, who had come down to meet and welcome those for whose reception she had made every provision the hurried notice she had received would permit. The young officer had been the first to step on shore, and after he had whispered something in her ear, she for a moment communicated with the group of women—then advanced to meet Miss Heywood, whom her lover was now handing from the scow. She embraced her with a tenderness so unusually affectionate, that a vague consciousness of the true cause flashed across the mind of the anxious girl, recalling back all that inward grief of soul, which the deep emotion of an engrossing love had for a time absorbed.
In less than half-an-hour the fugitives were installed in the council hall, and in another small apartment, dividing it from the rooms occupied by the Elmsleys. The ensign, having seen that all was arranged in a suitable manner in the former, went out to the parade-ground, leaving the ladies in charge of their amiable hostess, and of the women she had summoned to assist in bearing the latter into the Fort.
On his way to his rooms, he met Captain Headley returning from an inspection of the defences. He saluted him, and was in the act of addressing him in a friendly and familiar tone, when he was checked by the sharply-uttered remark:
“So, sir, you are returned at last. It seems to me that you have been much longer absent than was necessary.”
The high spirit of the youth was chafed. “Pardon me, sir,” he answered haughtily, “if I contradict you. No one of the least feeling would have thought of removing such an invalid as Mrs. Heywood is, without using every care her condition required. Have you any orders for me, Captain Headley?” he concluded, in a more respectful manner, for he had become sensible, the moment after he had spoken, of his error in thus evincing asperity under the reproof of his superior.