Utterly unable to speak, I sat down on a log, holding Sir George’s gloved hand, my arm on Ruyven’s laced shoulder.  An immense fatigue came over me; I had not before realized the pace we had kept up for these two months nor the strain I had been under.

“Singleton!” called out Sir George, “take the men to the barracks; take my horse, too—­I’ll walk back.  And, Singleton, just have your men take these fine fellows up behind”—­with a gesture towards the riflemen.  “And see that they lack for nothing in quarters!”

Grinning sheepishly, the riflemen climbed up behind the troopers assigned them; the troop cantered off, and Sir George pointed to Ruyven’s horse, indicating that it was for me when I was rested.

“We heard shots,” he said; “I mistrusted it might be a salute from you, but came ready for anything, you see—­Lord!  How thin you’ve grown, Ormond!”

“I’m cornet, cousin!” burst out Ruyven, hugging me again in his excitement.  “I charged with the squadron when we scattered McDonald’s outlaws!  A man let drive at me—­”

“Oh, come, come,” laughed Sir George, “Colonel Ormond has had more bullets driven at him than our Legion pouches in their bullet-bags!”

“A man let drive at me!” breathed Ruyven, in rapture.  “I was not hit, cousin!  A man let drive at me, and I heard the bullet!”

“Nonsense!” said Sir George, mischievously; “you heard a bumble-bee!”

“He always says that,” retorted Ruyven, looking at me.  “I know it was a bullet, for it went zo-o-zip-tsing-g! right past my ear; and Sergeant West shouted, ‘Cut him down, sir!’ ...  But another trooper did that.  However, I rode like the devil!”

“Which way?” inquired Sir George, in pretended anxiety.  And we all laughed.

“It’s good to see you back all safe and sound,” said Sir George, warmly.  “Sir Lupus will be delighted and the children half crazed.  You should hear them talk of their hero!”

“Dorothy will be glad, too,” said Ruyven.  “You’ll be in time for the wedding.”

I strove to smile, facing Sir George with an effort.  His face, in the full sunlight, seemed haggard and careworn, and the light had died out in his eyes.

“For the wedding,” he repeated.  “We are to be wedded to-morrow.  You did not know that, did you?”

“Yes; I did know it.  Dorothy wrote me,” I said.  A numbed feeling crept over me; I scarce heard the words I uttered when I wished him happiness.  He held my proffered hand a second, then dropped it listlessly, thanking me for my good wishes in a low voice.

There was a vague, troubled expression in his eyes, a strange lack of feeling.  The thought came to me like a stab that perhaps he had learned that the woman he was to wed did not love him.

“Did Dorothy expect me?” I asked, miserably.

“I think not,” said Sir George.

“She believed you meant to follow Arnold to Stanwix,” broke in Ruyven.  “I should have done it!  I regard General Arnold as the most magnificent soldier of the age!” he added.