“You are a soldier’s daughter, Maud”—­This was as true of major Meredith as of captain Willoughby, and might therefore be freely said by even Bob—­“You are a soldier’s daughter, and nature has clearly intended you to be a soldier’s wife.  This is a coup-d’-oeil not to be despised.”

“I shall never be a wife at all”—­murmured Maud, scarce knowing what she said; “I may not live to be a soldier’s daughter, even, much longer.  But, why are you here?—­surely, surely you can have no connection with those savages!—­I have heard of such horrors; but you would not accompany them, even though it were to protect the Hut.”

“I’ll not answer for that, Maud.  One would do a great deal to preserve his paternal dwelling from pillage, and his father’s grey hairs from violence.  But I came alone; that party and its objects being utterly strangers to me.”

“And why do you come at all, Bob?” inquired the anxious girl, looking up into his face with open affection—­“The situation of the country is now such, as to make your visits very hazardous.”

“Who could know the regular major in this hunting-shirt, and forest garb?  I have not an article about my person to betray me, even were I before a court.  No fear for me then, Maud; unless it be from these demons in human shape, the savages.  Even they do not seem to be very fiercely inclined, as they appear at this moment more disposed to eat, than to attack the Hut.  Look for yourself; those fellows are certainly preparing to take their food; the group that is just now coming over the cliffs, is dragging a deer after it.”

Maud took the glass, though with an unsteady hand, and she looked a moment at the savages.  The manner in which the instrument brought these wild beings nearer to her eye, caused her to shudder, and she was soon satisfied.

“That deer was killed this morning by the miller,” she said; “they have doubtless found it in or near his cabin.  We will be thankful, however, for this breathing-time—­it may enable my dear father to get up the other gate.  Look, Robert, and see what progress they make?”

“One side is just hung, and much joy does it produce among them!  Persevere, my noble old father, and you will soon be safe against your enemies.  What a calm and steady air he has, amid it all!  Ah!  Maud, Hugh Willoughby ought, at this moment, to be at the head of a brigade, helping to suppress this accursed and unnatural rebellion.  Nay, more; he may be there, if he will only listen to reason and duty.”

“And this is then your errand here, Bob?” asked his fair companion, gazing earnestly at the major.

“It is, Maud—­and I hope you, whose feelings I know to be right, can encourage me to hope.”

“I fear not.  It is now too late.  Beulah’s marriage with Evert has strengthened his opinions—­and then”

“What, dearest Maud?  You pause as if that ‘then’ had a meaning you hesitated to express.”