There was a significance in the manner in which this was said, that deeply touched the lieutenant, and his tone immediately changed.
“Then, I take you at your word,” he said. “It is a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you here, and you must positively join our second breakfast. I know Captain Headley is engaged with Winnebeg, whom he purposes sending off this evening with despatches, so that you will not be missed for at least an hour. There, look at Miss Heywood's imploring look—she pleads with her eyes in my favor, although there is no chance, it appears, of getting a word from her lips.”
“Nay,” remarked the other, who had rallied from her late despondency, on hearing the object of the breakfast; “you are very unreasonable, Mr. Elmsley. You do not deserve that I should speak to you to-day, and I am not quite sure that I shall.”
“And pray, fair lady, why not? Wherein have I had the misfortune to offend?”
“Ah! do you forget? You promised to bring me a certain report of certain occurrences, and yet instead of that, not a word have you condescended to address to me until this moment.”
“I plead guilty,” he answered deprecatingly, “but pray for a suspension of sentence, until the return of one through whose influence I hope to obtain your pardon! I go now,” he whispered, “to lead him to your feet.”
“Well, what is the great question you have to put to me?” said the lieutenant to his friend, whom he had rejoined, and with whom he now returned slowly towards the house—“one involving a case of life and death it might be imagined, from the long face you put on when alluding to the matter.”
“Nay, not exactly that, but still involving a good deal. Tell me frankly, Elmsley, has Miss Heywood heard any further account of the events at the farm-house?”
“She has heard the report brought in by Nixon and the rest of the fishing-party.”
“And what was that, I pray you?” eagerly returned the ensign.