Pursuing their way up the rude steps by which Lieutenant Raymond had previously descended, the little band of prisoners soon stood in the presence of the group assembled to receive them.  On alighting from the boat, the youthful captor had been seen to make the tender of his uninjured arm to the lady, who, however, had rejected it, with a movement, seemingly of indignant surprise, clinging in the same moment to her more elderly companion.  A titter among the younger officers, at Gerald Grantham’s expense, had followed this somewhat rode rejection of his proffered aim.

The young sailor was the first to gain the summit of the bank.  Respectfully touching his hat, and pointing to the captives, who followed a few paces as in his rear: 

“General—­Commodore,” he observed, his cheek flashing with a consciousness of the gratifying position in which he stood, “I have the honor to present to you the first fruits of our good fortune.  We hare taken thirty soldiers of the American regular regiment, now in garrison at Detroit, besides the boat’s crew.  This gentleman,” pointing to the elder officer, “is the commander of the party, and the lady I believe is—­”

“Certainly a non-combatant on this occasion,” interrupted the General, raising his plumed hat, and bowing to the party alluded to; “Gentlemen,” he pursued, addressing the two officers,” I am sorry we do not meet exactly on the terms to which we hare so long been accustomed; but, although the fortune of war has made you rather unwilling guests in the present instance, the rites of hospitality shall not be the less observed.  But, Mr. Grantham, you have forgotten to introduce these officers by name.”

“I plead guilty, General, but the truth is I have neglected to make the inquiry myself.”

“Major Montgomerie, sir of the United States infantry,” interposed the elderly officer, completely set at his ease by the affable and attentive manner of the British leader.  “This young lady is my niece.”

Again the general slightly, but courteously, bowed.  “I will not, Major Montgomerie, pay you the ill timed compliment of expressing pleasure in seeing you on an occasion like the present, since we must unquestionably consider you a prisoner of war; but if the young lady your niece, has any desire to continue her journey to Detroit, I shall feel pleasure in forwarding her thither under a flag of truce.”

“I thank you much, General, for this mark of your attention,” returned the American;” but I think I may venture to answer for my niece, that she will prefer remaining with me.”

“Not so, sir;” said a voice deep but femininely soft.  “General,” she continued, throwing aside her veil, which had hitherto concealed features pale even to wanness,” I have the strongest—­the most urgent reasons—­for the prosecution of my journey, and gladly do I accept your offer.”

The earnest manner of her address struck every hearer with surprise, contrasting as it did, with the unchanging coldness of her look; but the matter was a source of serious concern to her uncle.  He regarded her with an air of astonishment, not unmixed with displeasure.