If then she lamented that unfortunate coolness, if not absolute estrangement, which existed between Lieutenant Elmsley and her husband, bow much more acutely did she feel the difficulty of the position now, when the only other responsible officer of the garrison—­and that a young man of high feeling and accomplishment, whom she had ever liked and admired—­was fast being led into the same antagonism.  Nay, what rendered the matter more painful to her, was the fact of the latter being the lover, or perhaps the affianced of a girl, whom she regarded with a fervor not often felt by one woman for another, and for whose interests she could have made every sacrifice, not affecting those of her husband.

Such were the women who were now seated on the ottoman, engaged more in their own reflections, than in conversation, when Lieutenant Elmsley entered the room, announcing that the truant would shortly be in for breakfast, which, he requested, might be instantly prepared in the usual manner, only adding thereto a couple of bottles of claret.

“Ah! pardon me, Mrs. Headley,” he added, somewhat stiffly, as his wife left the room to issue the necessary orders, “I did not see you, or I should have been rather more ceremonious in my domestic communications.”

Mrs. Headley slightly colored.  She was sensible that pique towards her husband, and a belief that she wholly shared his sentiments, had induced this rather sarcastic speech.

“By no means, Mr. Elmsley.  I trust you will not put me down as a stranger, whatever your disposition to others.”

There was a significance in the manner in which this was said, that deeply touched the lieutenant, and his tone immediately changed.

“Then, I take you at your word,” he said.  “It is a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you here, and you must positively join our second breakfast.  I know Captain Headley is engaged with Winnebeg, whom he purposes sending off this evening with despatches, so that you will not be missed for at least an hour.  There, look at Miss Heywood’s imploring look—­she pleads with her eyes in my favor, although there is no chance, it appears, of getting a word from her lips.”

“Nay,” remarked the other, who had rallied from her late despondency, on hearing the object of the breakfast; “you are very unreasonable, Mr. Elmsley.  You do not deserve that I should speak to you to-day, and I am not quite sure that I shall.”

“And pray, fair lady, why not?  Wherein have I had the misfortune to offend?”

“Ah! do you forget?  You promised to bring me a certain report of certain occurrences, and yet instead of that, not a word have you condescended to address to me until this moment.”

“I plead guilty,” he answered deprecatingly, “but pray for a suspension of sentence, until the return of one through whose influence I hope to obtain your pardon!  I go now,” he whispered, “to lead him to your feet.”