perplexing.  And as he was again becoming absorbed in it, he was conscious of an undercurrent of wonder that he could ever have laughed.  The thing next to be done was to make an attack up Island Battery, the one most serviceable to the enemy, most annoying to themselves.  So long as that belched forth its fires against them, Warren’s fleet must remain outside, and there could be no combined attack upon the city, and Louisburg was still unconquerable.  Any day might bring a French fleet to its rescue, and then the game was up.  Beyond question, Island Battery must be attacked, but it was a difficult and dangerous attempt, and Pepperell sat with his head upon his hand, thinking of the men that must fall even if it were successful.  Still, every day now some among the soldiers were smitten down by disease and the French ships were nearer.  It was only a question of sacrificing a part of his army or the whole of it.  Warren was right to urge the measure, and it must be pressed upon his Council.  But Pepperell felt as if he were being asked to sign a hundred death-warrants.

It was not quite time for the members of his Council to assemble.  He went to the nearest battery where the firing was hottest, sighted the direction of the guns, examined the state of the city walls where these had been played upon by them, cheered the gunners with his praise, even jested with one of them, and left the men more full of confidence in him, more desirous than ever to please him, and, if possible, more resolved to win the day.  Not a trace of anxiety in his face or his tones had betrayed the weight that was upon him.  Then he went back to his tent.  The Council had assembled.  When he took his place at the head, he had forgotten the incident that a few minutes before had moved him to laughter.

Archdale stood motionless.  The underbrush hid him from the speakers, and he was too far off to hear a word.  It seemed to him that Elizabeth wished to shorten the interview, for soon Edmonson with another of his inimitable bows retired and she passed on.  As Stephen caught sight of her face he saw that it was troubled.  “He shall not persecute her,” he said to himself.  Nancy had gone on while Edmonson was speaking to her mistress, and now Elizabeth following was almost at the door of her temporary home, when a hand was laid heavily upon Archdale’s shoulder, and Vaughan’s hearty voice cried;—­

“Come on!  I’m going to speak to our charming, brave young lady there.  I want to tell her how proud of her courage I am.  Come on! he repeated.  Stephen followed.  He had not taken her determination in this way.  He thought her unwise and rash, and hated to have her there.  And yet he could not deny that the camp had seemed a different place since she had entered it.

“You take it that way,” he said to Vaughan.  “But I think we should be feeling that she may get hit some of these days, or be down with fever.”