“Ah, why did she except no one member of that family!” said the unhappy De Haldimar, pursuing rather the chain of his reflections than replying to the observation of his captain.  “Had the weight of her malediction fallen on all else than my adored sister, I could have borne the infliction, and awaited the issue with resignation, if not without apprehension.  But my poor gentle and unoffending Clara,—­alike innocent of the cause, and ignorant of the effect,—­what had she done to be included in this terrible curse?—­she, who, in the warm and generous affection of her nature, had ever treated Ellen Halloway rather as a sister than as the dependant she always appeared.”  Again he covered his eyes with his hands, to conceal the starting tears.

“De Haldimar,” said Captain Blessington reprovingly, but mildly, “this immoderate grief is wrong—­it is unmanly, and should be repressed.  I can feel and understand the nature of your sorrow; but others may not judge so favourably.  We shall soon be summoned to fall in; and I would not that Mr. Delme, in particular, should notice an emotion he is so incapable of understanding.”

The hand of the young officer dropped from his face to the hilt of his sword.  His cheek became scarlet; and even through the tears which he half choked himself to command, there was an unwonted flashing from his blue eye, that told how deeply the insinuation had entered into his heart.

“Think you, Captain Blessington,” he proudly retorted, “there is an officer in the fort who should dare to taunt me with my feelings as you have done?  I came here, sir, in the expectation I should be alone.  At a fitting hour I shall be found where Captain Blessington’s subaltern should be—­with his company.”

“De Haldimar—­dear De Haldimar, forgive me!” returned his captain.  “Heaven knows I would not, on any consideration, wantonly inflict pain on your sensitive heart.  My design was to draw you out of this desponding humour; and with this view I sought to arouse your pride, but certainly not to wound your feelings.  De Haldimar,” he concluded, with marked expression, “you must not, indeed, feel offended with one who has known and esteemed you from very boyhood.  Friendship and interest in your deep affliction of spirit alone brought me here—­the same feelings prompted my remark.  Do you not believe me?”

“I do,” impressively returned the young man, grasping the hand that was extended to him in amity.  “It is I, rather, Blessington, who should ask you to forgive my petulance; but, indeed, indeed,” and again his tone faltered, and his eye was dimmed, “I am more wretched even than I am willing to confess.  Pardon my silly conduct—­it was but the vain and momentary flashing of the soldier’s spirit impatient of an assumed imputation, and the man less than the profession is to be taxed with it.  But it is past; and already do you behold me once more the tame and apprehensive being I must ever continue until all is over.”