“Yes, and he refused you.  What then?”

“True, and what then,” and he nodded his head impatiently.

“You will sleep upon it, my dear fellow, after we have had a glass of the Monongahela, and the pipe.  Thus refreshed, you will think better of it in the morning.”

“We will have the Monongahela and the pipe, for truly I feel that I require something to soothe, if not absolutely to exhilarate me; but no sleep for me this night.  Elmsley,” he added, more seriously, “you will pass me out of the gate?”

“Pass you out of what?” exclaimed the other, starting from the chair on which he had thrown himself only the moment before.  “What do you mean, man?”

“I mean that, as officer of the guard, you alone can pass me through after dark, and this service you must render me.”

“Why! where are you going?  Single-handed like Jack the Giant Killer to deliver, not a beautiful damsel from the fangs of a winged monster, but a tough old backwoodsman from the dark paws of the savage?”

“Elmsley,” again urged the ensign, “you forget that Mr. Heywood is the father of my future wife.”

“Ah! is it come to that at last.  Well, I am right glad of it.  But, my dear Ronayne,” taking and cordially pressing his hand, “forgive my levity.  I only sought to divert you from your purpose.  What I can do for you, I will do; but tell me what it is you intend.”

“Yet, Elmsley, before we enter further into the matter, do you not think that you will incur the serious displeasure of Military Prudence?”

“If he discovers that you are gone, certainly; and I cannot see how it can be otherwise; he will be in the fidgets all night, and probably ask for you; but even if not then, he will miss you on parade in the morning.”

“And what will be the consequence to you?  Answer me candidly, I entreat.”

“Then, candidly, Ronayne, the captain likes me not well enough to pass lightly over such a breach of duty.  The most peremptory orders have, since the arrival of this startling news, been given not to allow any one to leave the fort, and (since you wish me to be sincere) should I allow you to pass, it will go hard with my commission.”

“How foolish of me not to have thought of that before!  How utterly stupid to ask that which I ought to have known myself; but enough, Elmsley.  I abandon the scheme altogether.  You shall never incur that risk for me.”

“Yet understand me,” resumed the other, “if you really think that there is a hope of its proving more than a mere wild goose chase, I will cheerfully incur that risk; but on my honor, Ronayne, I myself feel convinced that nothing you can do will avail.”

“Not another word on the subject,” answered his friend; “here is what will banish all care, at least for the present.”