“Juliette, Juliette, my dear, you have forgotten me.”
In shame and confusion she turned again, though she felt that she should die if she looked again into Trevellian’s face.
And then she almost fell when she did see. She stiffened frigidly and hot, cruel anger swept over her as her flashing eyes fell on William Trevellian.
The boy had ridden up as she turned to go away. And now, on the small, sinewy pony, which she remembered too well, he sat his horse just behind General Jackson, looking at her with eyes that spoke as much admiration as any old soldier in the group.
General Jackson himself had forgotten her as he turned in laughing enthusiasm to the boy and his pony. Grasping him by the shoulder, he cried:
“Why, little Ireland, you game little devil, how came you here? And Paddy Whack—ha—ha!”
The boy sat proud and beaming. To his saddle was strapped a kettle drum. He also was clad in buckskin and carried a smaller rifle, while the big hunting knife in his belt brought another smile from the General.
“He ran off from school, General,” she heard Trevellian saying; “came into our camp to-night just as we were leaving. He wants to go, and I haven’t the heart to send him back.”
“General, don’t say I cannot,” pleaded the boy. “I can shoot better than I can ride. Let me go.”
General Jackson glanced up into the little, excited face, the determined eye. How handsome he was, and as he turned his thoughts flashed, how like Trevellian!