“Sartain, sar,” said old Jacob, making a full stop until he delivered himself of his speech. “Dey are good looking offisur enough; but, sar, dey tink Jacob Bakely no more dan a hoss. It’s Jacob here, and Jacob dare—and de best of missus wine at dat. Dey tink nobody gemman but darselves. I’se show ’em dare mistake. Lor’ A’mighty, sar, I extinguish dem.” CHAPTER IX. “Wo the British soldiery, That little dread us near; On them shall light at midnight, A strange and sudden fear. · · · · · A moment in the British camp— A moment and away,— Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day.” —BRYANT. It was evening. In a large and spacious apartment, elegantly wainscoted, and filled with rich furniture, an innumerable number of lights were blazing, as if the room was shortly to witness a festival. Disposed about, on little exquisitely lacquered Chinese stands, were vases filled with flowers, most of them white. A rich Prayer-book lay open on a table at the head of the room. At the side a place had been fitted up for an orchestra. These were the preparations for the bridal of our heroine—strange mockery! At length the company began to gather. Among numerous officers and other guests came Col. Campbell, the commander of the post, little dreaming of the tragedy in which unwittingly he was playing so very prominent a part. He was followed by Mr. Mowbray, accompanied by the groom. Major Lindsay was dressed in uniform, but he wore a white favor on his breast, and his sword-knot was of snowy ribbon. He walked with a firm, proud step, and looked around smiling. He knew that there was scarcely a brother officer that did not envy him the possession of his bride, and the consciousness of this increased the exuberance of his spirits. The prize he had so long struggled for was now about to be won; and all regret at his conduct had long since vanished. Gratified triumph was written on every feature of his face.