“I rather fear not, sir,” replied Sir Everard, who had principally remarked the emotion; “but may I hope (and this was said with emphasis), in the evident disappointment you experience at my want of success, my offence may be overlooked?”

The governor fixed his penetrating eyes on the speaker, as if he would have read his inmost mind; and then calmly, and even impressively, observed,—­

“Sir Everard Valletort, I do overlook the offence, and hope you may as easily forgive yourself.  It were well, however, that your indiscretion, which can only find its excuse in your being so young an officer, had not been altogether without some good result.  Had you killed or disabled the—­the savage, there might have been a decent palliative offered; but what must be your feelings, sir, when you reflect, the death of yon officer,” and he pointed to the corpse of the unhappy Murphy, “is, in a great degree, attributable to yourself?  Had you not provoked the anger of the savage, and given a direction to his aim by the impotent and wanton discharge of your own rifle, this accident would never have happened.”

This severe reproving of an officer, who had acted from the most praiseworthy of motives, and who could not possibly have anticipated the unfortunate catastrophe that had occurred, was considered especially harsh and unkind by every one present; and a low and almost inaudible murmur passed through the company to which Sir Everard was attached.  For a minute or two that officer also appeared deeply pained, not more from the reproof itself than from the new light in which the observation of his chief had taught him to view, for the first time, the causes that had led to the fall of Murphy.  Finding, however, that the governor had no further remark to address to him, he once more returned to his station in the ranks.

“Mr. Lawson,” resumed the commandant, turning to the adjutant, “let this victim be carried to the spot on which he fell, and there interred.  I know no better grave for a soldier than beneath the sod that has been moistened with his blood.  Recollect,” he continued, as the adjutant once more led the party out of the area,—­“no firing, Mr. Lawson.  The duty must be silently performed, and without the risk of provoking a forest of arrows, or a shower of bullets from the savages.  Major Blackwater,” he pursued, as soon as the corpse had been removed, “let the men pile their arms even as they now stand, and remain ready to fall in at a minute’s notice.  Should any thing extraordinary happen before the morning, you will, of course, apprise me.”  He then strode out of the area with the same haughty and measured step that had characterised his entrance.

“Our colonel does not appear to be in one of his most amiable moods to-night,” observed Captain Blessington, as the officers, after having disposed of their respective companies, now proceeded along the ramparts to assist at the last funeral offices of their unhappy associate.  “He was disposed to be severe, and must have put you, in some measure, out of conceit with your favourite rifle, Valletort.”