“Now that we are on the subject, dear Miss Heywood,” remarked Elmsley, “let me once for all disabuse you of an impression which I fear you entertain—or is it so? Do you think that Ronayne has had an opportunity of joining the party at the farm?”
“Certainly, I do,” she answered, gravely, “or why should he have gone forth? Pray do not rob me of what little comfort, in expectation, I have left.”
“That he went forth madly and single-handed for the purpose, I can believe—nay, I am sure of it; but I grieve to add that he has not been seen there.”
“This, indeed, is strange,” she returned in faltering tones, and with ill-disguised emotion, for, hitherto she had been sustained by the belief that he was merely lingering behind the party, in order to satisfy himself of facts, the detail of which could not fail to be satisfactory to her ear. “How know you this?”
“I questioned Corporal Nixon, who commanded the party, and who apprised me of Mr. Heywood's having been carried off by the Indians, for I was deeply anxious, as you may presume, to know what had become of my friend—and this far less even for my own sake than for yours.”
“And his answer was?” and there was deep melancholy in the question.
“That no American uniform had come under his notice during his absence from the Fort, save those of the party he commanded. These, as far as I can recollect, were his precise words.”
“Mr. Elmsley,” said a sentry, who now appeared at the door of the breakfast-parlor, “Captain Headley waits for you in the orderly room.”
“Is Corporal Nixon there?” asked the lieutenant.
“He is, sir.”