Fotheringhame was always a welcome guest at the house of the general. To Mary he seemed a link with the lost one, and through him alone could she hope to hear tidings that might come to any member of the mess. To the general, whom he viewed, so far as his friend Cecil Falconer was concerned, as a stupid, obstinate, proud, and avaricious old man, he was specially welcome, as the patient listener to his prosy reminiscences of India, of battles and marches, of pig-sticking, shooting expeditions, and potting man-eaters, all of which Fotheringhame heard with respect and feigned interest, that he might the more freely enjoy the society of Annabelle, and of Mary, whom he really loved for the affection she bore his lost friend. His engagement with Annabelle was no secret now; but if it was a source of joy to him, to her it was not without painful doubts and fears, for he seemed to have some secret which she, as yet, failed to probe. That he and the lady she had twice seen, had some hidden and intimate knowledge of each other, the words overheard by Annabelle on the night of the ball seemed fully to prove. Then there was his undisguised emotion on seeing her pass into the fortress on the night of the visit to Falconer, an emotion that inflamed anew the suspicion, jealousy, and natural indignation of a proud and sensitive girl like Annabelle. What was this stranger doing there, she thought, passing the sentinels unchallenged, as if it was her use and wont? whither was she going, if not to visit Fotheringhame in his quarters? Who, and what was she, and in what manner related to him? Whence this vulgar mystery which had suddenly come into the lives of her and her intended, after their reconciliation and complete reunion had given her so much of the purest joy? It filled her with a nameless dread, and as women, in joy as in sorrow, generally seek the sympathy of each other, now in her jealousy, pain, and mortification, it was natural of Annabelle Erroll to confide in her friend and gossip Mary, while, in gusts of pride and anger, she sometimes failed to appear when Fotheringhame came to visit her, or received him with a coldness that certainly seemed to excite in him pain, surprise, and pique. Hew, who had some intuitive perception of all this, and who dearly loved mischief for its own sake, brought home exaggerated, and even false, statements of how and where he had met Fotheringhame with ladies generally, and especially with one lady in particular. 'Who she is no one knows, but she is always attired in the richest and most becoming of outdoor costumes. 'And seems a lady?' 'Undoubtedly, so far as air and bearing go.' 'Most strange, Hew!' 'Not strange at all, Mary, as the world goes,' said he, with a laugh. 'If you are sure of all this, Hew,' said Mary, 'it is a wrong, a great wrong, to Annabelle.'