At this last exhibition of insubordination, every one fancied that the commander’s temper would once more break out. But, to the surprise of all, Clark remained quite calm, and took no notice of it. He ushered his other officers to the[97] door with his usual courtesy, and attended them to the head of the stairs, whence he watched them go out with father Gibault.

Then he turned to the sentry at the door, and said:

“Move your post to the head of the stairs, and let no one up. If you hear any noise in my room, however loud, take no notice. Let no one pass in or out without my orders.”

The backwoods soldier nodded his comprehension, and the colonel re-entered his room, where, as he had expected, he found Adjutant Frank, still in his chair, which he had drawn to the table, on which rested his small feet with all the coolness in the world.

The little adjutant wore a hunting-shirt of fine blue cloth, with gold fringes to replace the usual buck-skin ornaments; his leggins were of white doe-skin, fringed with gold; and the white moccasin, that fitted his little foot like a glove, was sewed with gold thread. Altogether, a very natty little officer of rangers was Adjutant Frank, as he sat playing with a little blue velvet cap with a gold tassel, and whistling “Malbrook.”

Clark stood at the door, looking at him for several minutes. The lad’s back was turned to him, and the white peruke, which he generally wore, was now off, allowing the curls of a wonderful mass of long black hair to escape over his shoulders.

Clark looked at him long and earnestly, and as he looked, he gave an involuntary sigh. The boy was of a wonderful beauty and grace, he could not help admitting, even with all the fierce jealousy and anger that was gnawing at his heart. But the iron colonel had taken a resolution, and he was not to be turned from it by pity.

Slowly, and without any precautions against noise, he locked the door with a loud snap, and put the key in his pocket. Frank stopped whistling, but he did not look round. He only gave a little hitch to his sword-belt, and brought the hilt of his light rapier to the front. Then he resumed his whistle and gradually broke into a low song:
“Le Colonel Clark est brave,
Mais il n’est qu’ un esclave,
Sous la main, si douce et suave,
De Mademoiselle Rubie Roland.”

[98]

Clark heard the mocking words and wondered at the lad’s temerity, even while his anger rose to white heat. Frank looked so little and slender, so utterly unable to cope with the powerful and incensed colonel, that such a taunt as his conduct implied made it seem as if he must be crazy.

For the first time the words of Simon Kenton, as to the boy having been sun-struck, recurred to his mind, and for the moment a thrill of pity came to Clark. But as he looked at the boy and noted the quiet bravado of his manner, the supposition became untenable.

“There is too much method for madness, there,” thought the border leader.

And, as he came to this conclusion, a stern frown settled on his brow, and he went to the windows. He carefully closed the shutters and locked the French casements so that no one could see in. Then, looking into an inner room, he ascertained that there were no more openings to be guarded.

He closed and locked the door of communication with equal deliberation, then advanced to the table at which Frank sat, and laid his hand heavily on his shoulder.

“Now, sir,” said Clark, between his shut teeth, “what is the meaning of this?”

The lad looked up at him with an eye as fierce as his own.

“It means—take your hands off!”

For all answer Clark shook him fiercely, for it seemed as if the threat imbued him with ten-fold rage.

But, to his surprise, after the first fierce look, the boy did not either writhe or struggle, although the nervous grip of the powerful borderer must have caused intense pain, as the fingers sunk into his shoulder.

Feeling almost ashamed of himself, Clark released his hold, for the first feeling of the soft, delicate shoulder he had griped had convinced him that Frank was a mere child in his hands. He struck down the boy’s feet off the table with his open hand, and then released him, casting himself down in an opposite chair.

“Now, sir,” he said, sternly, “since you have learned your manners, tell me what is the meaning of all this?”

The little adjutant was quite silent, but he was breathing hard, and had changed his position. His face was now[99] turned away from Clark and hidden by the tangled mass of curls. He made no answer.

After a while Clark repeated the question.

“Well, sir, what does this mean? Why have you, whom I have treated like my own son, suddenly found that nothing will do for you but insulting your colonel and exciting mutiny among my troops?”

There was no answer. Still the averted figure looked sullenly away.

“I see you can not answer,” said Clark, sternly; “and I honor the shame that leads you to remain silent. It shows me that Governor ............