So I walked to the Fort, Nick and my Indian following; and presently saw Penelope on the rifle-platform of the stockade, among the soldiers.
She was gazing at the fiery sky in the north when I caught sight of her and called her name.
For a moment she bent swiftly down over the pickets as though to pierce the dark where my voice came from; then she turned, and was descending the ladder when I entered by the postern.
As I came up she took my shoulders between both hands, but said nothing, and I saw she had trouble to speak.
"Yes," said I, "there is bad news for you. Your pretty Summer House is no more, Penelope."
"Oh," she stammered, "did you—did you suppose it was the loss of a house that has driven me out o' my five senses?"
"Are your sheep and cattle safe?" I asked in sudden alarm.
"My God," she breathed, and stood with her face in both hands, there at the foot of the ladder under the April stars.
"What is it frightens you?" I asked.
Her hands fell to her side and she looked at me: "Nothing, sir.... Unless it be myself," she said calmly. "Your clothing is wet and you are shivering. Will you come into the fort?"