It was no privation to Mrs. Elmsley to forsake the almost luxurious ease of her father's house for the more sober accommodation of her husband's barrack-rooms. True, these were comfortably furnished, but still they had that primness which belongs ever to the quarters of a soldier; but from the moment of casting her destiny, she had determined in every sense to be a soldier's wife, and to inure herself from the first to the plainness incident to the condition. All she had transferred to the fort was her music and her books; and if at any moment caprice or inclination led her to desire a change, it was but to get up a little party, such as their limited social circle would permit, and transfer the amusements of the day to her father's more inviting mansion, where the servants had from herself learned all the art of management. Lively in disposition in the extreme, Mrs. Elmsley loved to promote the comfort of others; and as her husband possessed an equally happy temperament, they contributed not a little to enliven the circle of which, in point of gaiety, they might be said to be the centre. The owner of the establishment himself--Mr. McKenzie--was fond of good living, and having arrived at an age when continued prosperity permitted a relaxation from the toils of the earlier and cooler portions of the day, loved to indulge after dinner in a large arm-chair, placed in a veranda that overlooked the fort and country around, and where the light air from the lake, waving through the branches of the thin trees, swept with refreshing coolness along the broad corridor. He generally smoked the fragrant herbs of the Indians, mixed with tobacco, and sipped the delicious clarets with which his cellar was stocked, and which he kept, not for sale or barter, but for the exclusive use of himself and friends. Immediately after Winnebeg had left Captain Headley, he made his way to the mansion of Mr. McKenzie, whom he found, as usual, sitting in his veranda, enjoying his pipe and wine after dinner. The greeting was that of old friends long separated. They had known each other from their youth; and, while the Indian entertained the highest respect for the character and opinions of Mr. McKenzie, the latter in turn reposed the most unbounded confidence in the sincerity and integrity of the chief. "Well, Winnebeg, my old friend, where do you come from? Where have you been all this time? I thought you had deserted us altogether. But I recollect now; Captain Headley sent you with despatches to Detroit. What news do you bring back? But first try a glass of claret. Harry!"--calling out to a son of one of his voyageurs, who acted in his household in the capacity of his private servant--"bring another chair and a wine-glass." "Yes, come from Detroit, Missa Kenzie," replied the Indian gravely, as he seated himself, took his tomahawk from his side, filled it, and began to smoke; "bring him bad news for you--for all."