Dunwoodie for a moment joined the family, who were now collecting in the
ordinary parlor. His face was no longer wanting in smiles, and his
salutations, though hasty, were cordial. He took no notice of the escape
and capture of Henry Wharton, but seemed to think the young man had
continued where he had left him before the encounter. On the ground they
had not met. The English officer withdrew in haughty silence to a
window, leaving the major uninterrupted to make his communications.
The excitement produced by the events of the day in the youthful
feelings of the sisters, had been succeeded by a languor that kept them
both silent, and Dunwoodie held his discourse with Miss Peyton.
"Is there any hope, my cousin, that your friend can survive his wound?"
said the lady, advancing towards her kinsman, with a smile of
benevolent regard.
"Everything, my dear madam, everything," answered the soldier
cheerfully. "Sitgreaves says he will live, and he has never
deceived me."
"Your pleasure is not much greater than my own at this intelligence. One
so dear to Major Dunwoodie cannot fail to excite an interest in the
bosom of his friends."
"Say one so deservedly dear, madam," returned the major, with warmth.
"He is the beneficent spirit of the corps, equally beloved by us all; so
mild, so equal, so just, so generous, with the meekness of a lamb and
the fondness of a dove--it is only in the hour of battle that Singleton
is a lion.
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