It has been stated that our hero had agreed to join Colonel Marchbanks in the pursuit of the Indians, not because the troops sought to avenge¹ the murders which had been committed, but because several women and children had been carried off, and the rescue of these formed the main object of the expedition.

 

There can be no doubt, however, that the desire of Lawrence to join in such a praiseworthy adventure was not a little stimulated² by the fact that Manuela was to accompany her father, at least a part of the way, and he naturally hoped to have some opportunities of speaking to her—perhaps of riding beside her, as he had so often done when he imagined her to be a daughter of the Incas.

 

But alas³! the course of his love being true and deep—remarkably deep—was doomed⁴ to run in its proverbially rugged⁵ course.

 

Colonel Marchbanks, when leading his men to “glory”—or otherwise—like a true soldier, as he was, invariably moved with an advance and rear-guard. Like a cautious father, he placed Lawrence in the rear-guard, and arranged that there should be a considerable distance between it and the main body.

 

We may remark in passing that when the first burst of the old gentleman’s anger with Lawrence was over he had generously resolved, in consideration of what the young man had done for his daughter, to make no further allusion⁶ to the ballroom⁷ scene, but merely to hold the presumptuous⁸ youth politely at arm’s-length, and take especial care that the two young people should not again have an opportunity of meeting alone. He laid no command on either of them, but simply trusted to his own wisdom and

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