“Well, no matter; but you must know that all the agitation of the youth was caused by his jealousy of the good fortune of Ronayne.”
“Jealous of Ronayne?” exclaimed Captain Headley with unfeigned surprise. “Ha! ha! ha! excuse me, my dear Ellen, but I cannot avoid being amused at the strangeness of the conceit.”
“It was even so,” returned Mrs. Headley, gravely, “and a source of unhappiness I fear it will prove to us all that it was so.”
“Proceed,” said her husband.
“Are you aware that the son of Winnebeg has never entered the fort nor been even in the neighborhood since the night of that marriage?” pursued his wife.
“I do not believe he has been seen since,” remarked Captain Headley.
“I know that he has not; but yet he is ever near, seemingly bent on one purpose.”
“Love?” interposed the Captain, smiling.
“Yes, love! but a fearful love—though the love of a smooth-faced boy—a love that may bring down destruction upon us all.”
“Ellen, you begin to fill me with alarm,” remarked her husband, gravely. “You are not a woman to be startled by trifles, and there is that in your manner just now which fully satisfies me of the importance of what you have to communicate.”