The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

"Suit yourself," returned the Ensign, good-humouredly, "the river is a public highway; but I'm going over to dinner."

He was there first, and had wheedled an invitation from Mrs. Mackenzie before they got into the house. "Put me next to Beatrice, please," he said, as they came in.

During dinner every one was in high spirits except Robert, who knew that he must efface himself all the afternoon. Some way, it was harder to have Ronald there than to know that he was with her at the Fort.

However, he felt a wicked thrill of satisfaction when Beatrice pushed back her chair and began to gather up the dishes. "You needn't do that, Bee," remonstrated Mrs. Mackenzie.

"I'm going to help you, Aunty, and then I'm going to take a nap. I'm dreadfully sleepy."

Ronald's face fell. "You're lazy," he said reproachfully.

"No, I'm not," she returned; "but I have to get rested, because to-morrow I'm going to wash Queen."

"Beatrice Manning!" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie. "What in the world do you mean?"

"I'll tell you all about it, Aunt Eleanor." In her own mind Beatrice had determined to make a pretence at Queen's bath the next morning, in front of the Fort, and see who would offer to help her.

"I'm going to help with the dishes, too," announced Ronald.

"You needn't, George," said Mrs. Mackenzie.

"I'd rather he wouldn't," remarked Beatrice, critically, "because I don't think he's clean. He washed Major this morning."

The shaft glanced aside harmlessly, because he prided himself upon his neatness. "I got my hand in this morning," he said imperturbably, "and I've washed many a dish in this very kitchen, long before you came, Miss Bee; didn't I, Aunt Eleanor?"

"Indeed you did," answered Mrs. Mackenzie, warmly. "I don't know how I could have managed without you."

"Very well," said the girl, lightly; "as long as you're used to it, and since you insist upon doing it, I'll go and take my nap right now."

Robert, inwardly joyous, but outwardly calm, took his well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare and went out to read under the trees, while Mrs. Mackenzie and the Ensign laboured with the dishes, and Beatrice slept the sleep of the just.

It was late in the afternoon when she came out, her eyes still languorous under their drooping lids, and found Ronald sitting alone upon the piazza.

"Why, I didn't expect to see you here," she said, in a tone of pleased surprise.

"You aren't very well acquainted with me," murmured Ronald, twisting uneasily in his chair.

"I'd like to be," remarked Beatrice, with a winning smile.

"Now's your chance, then, for I'm going to stay here until six o'clock."

"That's a long time," sighed the girl, with a sidelong glance at him. "It isn't much after four now."

He cleared his throat and coloured deeply. While he was casting about for a suitable reply, Forsyth appeared with his book. "Come and read to us, Cousin Rob," said Beatrice, sweetly.

Ronald looked daggers at him when he hesitated. "Can't," he answered shortly; "I'm going to read to myself."

He went back to his place under the poplars, in sight, but not intentionally within hearing, and Ronald was unreasonably vexed with him, deeming him outside the spirit, though within the letter of the bond.

"I'm sorry he wouldn't read to us," observed Beatrice. "Cousin Rob has such a deep, melodious voice, don't you think so?"

The Ensign was writhing inwardly, but managed to say, "Yes; very deep."

Mackenzie came out and wasted half of a precious hour in talking, though Ronald answered only in monosyllables. Beatrice exerted her rarest powers of entertainment for her uncle's benefit, and he did not notice how the time passed.

"Well," he said, at length, "I guess I'll go across for a bit. I want to see the Captain." Forsyth joined him at the gate, and Ronald heaved a sigh of relief when they were safely on their way to the Fort.

"Your face is red, Mr. Ronald," said Beatrice. She was rewarded by seeing the colour deepen.

"What makes it that way?" she asked, with the air of one pursuing a subject of scientific interest.

"It's the heat," explained the Ensign, miserably; "didn't you know it was hot?"

She shook her head. "I never know anything unless I'm told."

"I believe you," he growled.

"Mr. Ronald," she said, with a bewildering smile, "what makes you so cross to me?"

"I – I'm not," he answered thickly.

"Yes, you are – you're dreadfully cross to me, but you seem to get on all right with everybody else. I don't believe you like me!"

The last remnant of his self-control deserted him. "No, I don't," he said, hotly. "Good God, Beatrice, I love you – can't you see that? Why do you torture me all the time?"

Her face grew a shade paler, and her eyes refused to meet his. She knew she had been playing with fire, but none the less was surprised at the natural result, and was genuinely sorry that she had gone so far. She stared at the Fort, unseeing, and inwardly reproached herself bitterly.

"Beatrice!" he gasped. "Say something to me, can't you?"

She pointed to a cloud of dust in the south-west. "Look, some one is coming!"

"I don't care," he said, roughly, possessing himself of her hand; "you've got to say something to me!"

"I did," she returned, drawing away from him, "I told you somebody was coming. I think it's my relatives from Fort Wayne coming to take me back there."

Ronald turned away, deeply pained, and the pathetic droop in his shoulders got safely through the thorns to the girl's heart. The cloud of dust came nearer and nearer, until at last the rider turned his foam-flecked horse and dashed up the esplanade to the Fort.

Beatrice's temporary tenderness was obscured by curiosity, for the rider was an Indian, with the British flag girded at his loins.

"Why," she said, in an odd little voice, "what has happened!"

Ronald came swiftly toward her. "I don't know and I don't care," he said, in a voice she scarcely recognised; then he put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Beatrice, darling," he pleaded, "haven't you a word for me – don't you love me just the least little bit in the world?"

Then the violet eyes looked up into his and the sweet lips quivered. "I – I don't know," she whispered brokenly; "please let me go!"

His arms fell to his sides and she was free, but there was a lump in his throat and a wild hope in his heart. "My darling," he began, but she stopped him with a warning gesture.

Forsyth was pulling across the river as if his life depended upon it, and for the first time they perceived that something was wrong. With his face white and every muscle of his body tense, he ran toward them.