Mrs. Schuyler, as usual, opened her doors wide to receive as many of the officers as she was able whilst the final preparations were being made.  And upon a soft midsummer evening Lord Howe appeared in the supper room, bringing with him two fine-looking officers—­one grey headed, the other young and ardent—­and introducing them to his hostess and those assembled round the table as Major Duncan Campbell, the Laird of Inverawe, in Scotland; with his son Alexander, a Lieutenant of the Highland force.

Young Alexander was seated next to Fritz at table, and began an eager conversation with him.  Talk surged to and fro that night.  Excitement prevailed everywhere.  But Fritz observed that Major Campbell sat very grave and silent, and that even Lord Howe’s efforts to draw him into conversation proved unavailing.

Mrs. Schuyler also tried, but with little success, to make the veteran talk.  He answered with grave courtesy all remarks made to him, but immediately lapsed into a sombre abstraction, from which it seemed difficult to rouse him.

At the end of the supper Lord Howe rose to his feet, made a dashing little speech to the company, full of fire and enthusiasm, and proposed the toast: 

“Success to the expedition against Ticonderoga!”

Fritz happened to be looking at the grave, still face of Major Campbell, and as these words were spoken he saw a sudden spasm pass across it.  The soldier rose suddenly to his feet, took up his glass for a moment, put it down untasted, and with a bow to his hostess pushed aside his chair, and strode from the room in an access of visible emotion.

Lord Howe looked after him a moment, and draining his glass, seemed about to go after the guest; but young Alexander, from the other side of the table, made him a sign, and he sat down again.

The incident, however, seemed to act like the breaking up of the supper party, and the guests rose and left the table, dispersing quickly to look after bag or baggage or some last duty, till only Mrs. Schuyler, Lord Howe, Fritz, and Lieutenant Campbell were left in the supper room.

It was then that young Alexander looked round and said, “It was the name you spoke which affected my father so strangely—­the fatal name of Ticonderoga!”

“Fatal! how fatal?” asked Lord Howe quickly.

“You have not heard the strange story, then?”

“No; what story?”

“It concerns my father; it is the cause of his melancholy.  When you have heard it you will not perhaps wonder, though to you the incident may seem incredible.”

“I have learned that there are many things in this world which are wonderful and mysterious, yet which it is folly to disbelieve,” answered Howe.  “Let us hear your story, Campbell.  I would not have spoken words to hurt your father could I have known.”

“I am sure you would not; but hear the tale, and you will know why that name sounds in his ears like a death knell.