It was Dulce who saw him first.
“There comes your father!” she said; and she began to 330 blush as she had done on the day when he had left her at the gate of Brooklyn, talking to Elizabeth.
Hammond proved himself quite worthy of the occasion.
“Well met, father,” he called out, cheerily, “We seem all going one way. I suppose no one needs any introduction? Of course you know my father, Miss Challoner?”
Then the colonel threw down his arms. He had fought very bravely on his son’s behalf; but, after all his labors, his bristling defences and skilful retreats, Hammond had of his own free will delivered himself into the hands of the Philistines. What was the use of guarding an empty citadel?—his treasure was already in the enemy’s grasp.
All this was written on the colonel’s lugubrious face as he bowed stiffly and walked in sorrowful silence beside them, shaking his white head at intervals; but no one but Dulce took any notice of his sombre mood.
Dulce was very timid by nature. She was the least outspoken of the three, and always kept in the background, like a modest little flower that loved the shade; but she was very soft-hearted, and had great regard for people’s feelings. And the old man’s downcast looks pained her; for how was she to know that he was secretly pleased at this meeting?
“I hope—I wish—you did not mind knowing us so much. But it has not been our fault this afternoon,” sighed Dulce, stammering and blushing over her words. “You will believe that, will you not, Colonel Middleton?”
If a cannon shot had been fired into the old warrior’s ear, he could hardly have started more than he did at these childish words. He looked round. There was the little girl, looking up at him with the innocent eyes he remembered so well, and her mouth puckered a little as though she wanted to cry.
This was more than any man could bear, even if he had a harder heart than Colonel Middleton.