Читать книгу Matilda Montgomerie; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled - Major Richardson - Страница 6

As she concluded, a hectic spot rose to either cheek, lingered there a moment, and then left it colorless as before.

"Be it so, Miss Montgomerie, my word is pledged and you shall go—Grantham, I had intended sending one of my personal staff with the summons, but, on reflection, you shall be the bearer. As the captor of the lady, to you shall be awarded the charge of delivering her over to her friends."

"Friends!" involuntarily repeated the American, her cheek becoming even paler than before, and her lips compressed in a way to indicate some deep and painful emotion. Again she dropped her veil.

No other notice was taken of the interruption than what the surprised manner of Major Montgomerie manifested, and the General proceeded;

"I would ask you, Major Montgomerie, to become my guest while you remain with us, but I fear that, as a bachelor, I have but indifferent accommodation to offer to your niece."

"If Miss Montgomerie will accept it," said Colonel D'Egville, interposing, "I shall be most happy to afford her the accommodation of a home until she finally departs for the opposite shore. If the attention of a family of daughters," he continued, more immediately addressing himself to the young lady, "can render your temporary sojourn among us less tedious, you have but to command them."

So friendly an offer could not well be refused. Miss Montgomerie inclined her head in acquiescence, and Colonel D'Egville drew her arm within his own.

"It were unkind," remarked the general, good-humoredly, "to separate Major Montgomerie altogether from his niece. Either the young lady must partake of our rude fare, or we shall consider ourselves included in your dinner party."

"You could not confer on me a greater pleasure, General, and indeed I was about to solicit it. Commodore Barclay, may I hope that so short and unceremonious an invitation will be excused by the circumstances? Good, I shall expect you. But there is yet another to be included among our guests. Gerald, you will not fail to conduct this gentleman, whose name I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing"—and he looked at the latter, as if he expected him to announce himself.

"I fear, sir," observed the young officer, pointedly, "that your dinner party would be little honored by such an addition. Although he wears the uniform of an American officer, this person is wholly unworthy of it and of a seat at your table."

Every eye was turned with an expression of deep astonishment on the speaker, and thence upon the form of the hitherto scarcely noticed militia officer; who, with his head sunk sullenly upon his chest, and an eye now and then raised stealthily to surrounding objects, made no attempt to refute, or even to express surprise at, the singular accusation of his captor.

"This is strong language to apply to a captive enemy, and that enemy apparently an officer," gravely remarked the general; "yet I cannot believe Mr. Grantham to be wholly without grounds for his assertion."

Before Grantham could reply, a voice in the crowd exclaimed, as if the utterer had been thrown off his guard, "What—Phil!"

On the mention of this name, the younger prisoner looked suddenly up from the earth on which his gaze had been riveted, and cast a rapid glance around him.

"Nay, nay, my young friend, do not, as I see you are, feel hurt at my observation," resumed the general, extending his hand to Gerald Grantham; "I confess I did at one moment imagine that you had been rash in your assertion, but from what has this instant occurred, it is evident your prisoner is known to others as well as to yourself. No doubt we shall have everything explained in due season. By the bye, of what nature is your wound? slight, I should say, from the indifference with which you treat it."

"Slight, General—far slighter," he continued, coloring, "than the wound that was sought to be affixed to my fair name in my absence."

All looked at the speaker, and at each other with surprise, for, as yet, there could have been no communication to him of the doubts which had been entertained.

"Who is it of you all, gentlemen," pursued the young man, with the same composedness of voice and manner, and turning particularly to the officers of the forty-first regiment, who were grouped around their chief, "Who is it, I ask, on whom has devolved the enviable duty of reporting me as capable of violating my faith as a subject, and my honor as an officer?"

There was no reply, although the same looks of surprise were interchanged; but, as he continued to glance his eye around the circle, it encountered, either by accident or design, that of Captain Molineux, on whose rather confused countenance the gaze of Henry Grantham was at that moment bent with an expression of much meaning.

"No one answers," continued the youth; "then the sting has been harmless. But I crave your pardon, General—I am claiming an exemption from censure which may not be conceded by all. Commodore, how shall I dispose of my prisoners?"

"Not so, Mr. Grantham; you have sufficiently established your right to repose, and I have already issued the necessary instructions. Yet, while you have nobly acquitted yourself of your duty, let me also perform mine. Gentlemen," he continued, addressing the large circle of officers, "I was the first to comment on Mr. Grantham's supposed neglect of duty, and to cast a doubt on his fidelity. That I was wrong I admit, but right I trust will be my reparation, and whatever momentary pain he may experience in knowing that he has been thus unjustly judged, it will, I am sure, be more than compensated for, when he hears that by General Brock himself his defence was undertaken, even to the pledging of his own honor. Mr. Grantham," concluded the gallant officer, "how you have obtained your knowledge of the conversation that passed here during your absence, is a mystery I will not now pause to inquire into, but I would fain apologize for the wrong I have done. Have I your pardon?"

At the commencement of this address, the visible heaving of his full chest, the curling of his proud lip, and the burning flush of his dark cheek, betrayed the mortification Gerald felt, in having been placed in a position to be judged thus unjustly; but, as the commodore proceeded, this feeling gradually passed away, and when the warm defence of his conduct by the general was alluded to, closed as the information was with a request for pardon, his temporary annoyance was banished, and he experienced only the generous triumph of one who is conscious of having won his way, through calumny and slander, to the well merited approbation of all right minded men.

"Come, come," interposed the general, more touched than he was willing to appear, by the expressive manner in which the only hand of the commodore now grasped that of his lieutenant, and perceiving that the latter was about to reply—"We will defer all further explanation until a later period. But, before we depart, this person must be disposed of; Major Montgomerie, excuse my asking if you will be personally responsible for your fellow prisoner?"

"Certainly not!" returned the Major quickly, and with something like alarm at the required responsibility; "that is to say, he does not belong to the United States regular service, and I know nothing of him. Indeed, I never saw him before last night, when he joined me with a verbal message from Detroit."

Hitherto the individual spoken of had preserved an unbroken silence, keeping, as we have already shown, his gaze riveted upon the ground, except at intervals, when he looked around with an eye of suspicion, as if to measure the distance that separated him from the groups of Indians in the background. The disclaimer of the major had, however, the effect of restoring to him the use of his tongue. Casting his uncertain eye on the gentlemanly person of the latter, he exclaimed, in a tone of insufferable vulgarity:

"I'll tell you what it is, Mister Major—you may think yourself a devilish fine feller, but I guess as how an officer of the Michigan Militia is just as good and as spry as any blue coat in the United States rig'lars; so there's that (snapping his fingers) for pretendin' not to know me."

An ill-suppressed titter pervaded the group of British officers—the general alone preserving his serieux.

"May I ask your name?" he demanded.

"I guess, gin'ril, it's Paul Emilius Theophilus Arnoldi, ensign in the United States Michigan Militia," was answered with a volubility strongly in contrast with the preceding silence of the speaker.

"Then, Mr. Arnoldi, as an officer in the American militia, you shall enjoy your liberty on parole. I need not, I presume, sir, point out to you the breach of private honor and national faith consequent on any violation of that parole."

"I guess not, gin'ril, for, I take it, the word of a Michigan militia officer is as good as that of any United States rig'lar as ever stepped in shoe leather."

Another very pardonable disposition on the part of the younger officers to indulge in mirth, was interrupted by the general, desiring a young aide-de-camp to procure the necessary billet and accommodation for Ensign Arnoldi.

These two individuals having moved away in search of the required lodging, the general, with his staff and prisoner guests, withdrew towards the fort. Their departure was the signal for the breaking up of the groups, and all dispersed to their several homes, and in pursuit of their various duties. The recently arrived Indians were distributed throughout the encampment, already occupied as we have described, and the prisoners taken in the morning were provided with suitable accommodation.

As Colonel D'Egville was about to enter the gate of the fort, with his fair charge leaning on his arm, Gerald Grantham approached the party, with the intention of addressing the general in regard to the prisoner Arnoldi; but finding him engaged in close conversation with Major Montgomerie, he lingered, as if awaiting a fitting opportunity to open the subject.

While he yet loitered, the eye of Miss Montgomerie met his. What it expressed we will not venture to describe, but its effect upon the young officer was profound. The moment before, discouraged by her apparent reserve, he had stood coldly by, but now startled into animation, he bent upon her an earnest and corresponding look; then, with a wild tumult at his heart, which he neither sought to stifle nor to analyze, and wholly forgetting what had brought him to the spot, he turned and joined his brother, who, at a short distance, stood awaiting his return.