It was nearly noon, and Lieutenant Elmsley had not yet made his appearance with the promised report.  Maria Heywood had, after passing an hour with her mother, returned to the breakfast-room, which it will be recollected opened immediately upon the barrack-square.  Her friend being engaged with her domestic affairs, which every lady was at that period in a measure compelled to superintend, she had thrown herself (still in her morning dishabille) on a couch with a book in her hand, but with a mind wholly distracted from the subject of its pages.  After continuing some time thus, a prey to nervous anxiety, as much the result of Elmsley’s long absence as of her former fears, the sound of the fifes and drums fell startlingly, she knew not wherefore, upon her ear and drew her to the door.  The men were falling in, and in the course of a few minutes the little line was formed a few yards to her left, with its flanks resting on either range of building, so that the mess-room door, then open, was distinctly visible in front.  At the same moment, Captain Headley and the lieutenant, followed by Corporal Nixon and the other men of the fishing-party—­ Green only excepted—­passed out of the orderly room on her right, moved across, and took up their position in front of the parade.

“God bless me, Maria, what is that, or is it his ghost!” suddenly and unguardedly exclaimed Mrs. Elmsley, who had that moment joined her friend—­placing her arm at the same time round her waist.

“What do you mean, Mar—­” but before Maria Heywood could complete her sentence, all power of speech was taken from her in the emotion with which she regarded what, after a momentary glance, met her view.

It was her lover, fully equipped for parade, and walking towards the men with a calm and deliberate step, which seemed to evince total unconsciousness that any thing unusual had happened.

“Here is a chair, my love—­you really tremble as if the man was a ghost.  Now then, we shall have a scene between him and our amiable commandant.”

“God forbid!” tremulously answered the almost bewildered girl; “I am the cause of all.”

“You!  Stuff, Maria.  What nonsense you talk, for a sensible girl.  How should you be the cause? but, positively, Ronayne can never have been away from the Fort.”

“Do you think so, Margaret?”

“I am sure of it.  Only look at him.  He is as spruce as if he had only just come out of a band-box.  But hush, not a word.  There, that’s a dear.  Lean your head against my shoulder.  Don Bombastes speaks!”

“No sign of Mr. Ronayne yet?” demanded Captain Headley, his back turned to the slowly advancing officer, whose proximity not one of the men seemed inclined to announce, possibly because they feared rebuke for insubordination.  Mr. Elmsley, he pursued to that officer, who, acting on a significant half-glance from his friend, was silent also as to his approach.  “Let a formal report of his absence without leave, be made to me immediately after the parade has been dismissed.”