The young soldier laughed, drew himself up, threw out his chest, folded his arms, lifted his head, and so seemed defiantly to offer himself for criticism. And in truth he had no just reason to avoid inspection. He was very possibly just what he had laughingly described himself--the handsomest man in his majesty’s service. He was one of the finest specimens of the Anglo Saxon race--in form somewhat above the medium height--broad-shouldered, deep-chested, round-limbed, with a full face, fair, roseate complexion, flaxen hair, merry blue eyes, straight nose, finely curved, red and smiling lips, white teeth, and an expression of countenance replete with blended frankness, firmness, and good-humor. But no recognition of his manly beauty was in the steadfast, profound, and serious gaze with which Margaret--her hand still laid upon his breast--regarded him. “William Dawson. Your name is William Dawson?” she said, speaking low and slowly. “Yes, fair one! William Dawson, hitherto ensign in his majesty’s ---- company of ----, but henceforth your liege subject!” replied the young soldier, laughingly though in great surprise. “William Dawson,” she repeated, without removing her eyes. “You have said it, lovely lady.” “William Dawson,” she reiterated, as it were, unconsciously. “At your service, beautiful Virginian! What can I do to prove my devotion? Blow up the Albion? desert my colors! swear allegiance to that warlike hero, President Madison? or, I have it! cut off Rear Admiral Cockburn’s ears? for I think he is the favorite antipathy of your charming countrywomen! Tell me what unheard-of audacity I shall perpetrate to prove my devotion, and above all things, tell the worshiped name of her for whom I am pledging myself to do anything and everything!” said the young soldier, in the same tone of gay, but not disrespectful, raillery. “I am Margaret Helmstedt,” she replied, in a low and thrilling voice. “Great Heaven!” It was all he said. And there fell a pause and deep silence between them for some intense and vital moments, during which they gazed with unutterable emotions upon each other’s face and form. She could not have been whiter than she had been from the first, so she remained without color and without voluntary motion, but shaken upon her feet as a statue by an earthquake. He at length grew as pale as she was, shuddered through all his frame, seized her hand, drew her closer, as one having authority, held her firmly while he fixed upon her blanched face a gaze as earnest, as searching, as thrilling as her own had been. He broke the silence.