“It were unkind,” remarked the General good humouredly, “to separate Major Montgomerie altogether from his niece.  Either the young lady must partake of our rude fare, or we shall consider ourselves included in your dinner party.”

“You could not confer on me a greater pleasure, General—­ and indeed I was about to solicit it.  Commodore Barclay, may I hope that so short and unceremonious an invitation will be excused by the circumstances?  Good—­I shall expect you.  But there is yet another to be included among our guests.  Gerald, you will not fail to conduct this gentleman, whose name I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing”—­and he looked at the latter, as if he expected him to announce himself.

“I fear sir,” observed the young officer pointedly, “that your dinner party would be little honored by such an addition.  Although he wears the uniform of an American officer, this person is wholly unworthy of a seat at your table.”

“Every eye was turned with an expression of deep astonishment on the speaker, and thence upon the form of the hitherto scarcely noticed militia officer; who, with his head sunk sullenly upon his chest, and an eye now and then raised stealthily to surrounding objects, made no attempt to refute, or even to express surprise at, the singular accusation of his captor.

“This is strong language to apply to a captive enemy, and that enemy, apparently, an officer,” gravely remarked the General:  “yet I cannot believe Mr. Grantham to be wholly without grounds for his assertion.”

Before Grantham could reply, a voice in the crowd exclaimed, as if the utterer had been thrown off his guard, “what, Phil!”

On the mention of this name, the American looked suddenly up from the earth on which bit gaze had been rivetted, and cast a rapid glance around him.

“Nay, nay, my young friend, do not, as I see you are, feel hurt at my observation,” resumed the General extending his hand to Gerald Grantham; “I confess I did at one moment imagine that you had been rash in your assertion, but from what has this instant occurred, it is evident your prisoner is known to others as well as to yourself—­ No doubt we shall have every thing explained in due season.  By the bye, of what nature is your wound?  Slight I should say, from the indifference with which you treat it.

“Slight, General—­far slighter,” he continued, coloring, “than the wound that was sought to be affixed to my fair name in absence.”

All looked at the speaker, and at each other with surprise, for, as yet, there could have been no communication to him of the doubts which had been entertained.

“Who is it of you all, gentlemen,” pursued the young man, with the same composedness of voice and manner, and turning particularly to the officers of the ——­ Regiment, who were grouped around their Chief; “Who is it, I ask, on whom has devolved the enviable duty of reporting me as capable of violating my faith as a subject, and my honor as an officer?”