Lieutenant Willard was working with a will to
strengthen the redoubt. Bomb-proof apartments were made for the women
and children. They were still uncertain of the fate of Baltimore, and
knew that the whole coast was threatened by the British fleet.
While sitting at breakfast, Fernando received a note from Captain Lane
informing him that a sudden attack of rheumatism prevented him from
leaving his bed, and asked him to call at the house if he wished to
consult him. Never in his life was Fernando more glad to receive a
summons, and never did he so dread answering it.
"I am foolish!" he thought. "She cares nothing for me. She has told me
as much, and she cannot have changed her mind. I will go, but as the
commandant and not as a supplicant--or lover."
Fernando was in the uniform of a captain of infantry of 1812, the
handsomest uniform ever adopted by the American army. His dark blue
coat, buttoned to his chin, his sash, his belt and gilt sword, his
chapeau-bras with flowing plume, set off his manly form.
Fernando, as he ascended the path to the house, did not dream that he
was heroic or fine-looking.
When he reached the house, he paused a moment on the piazza, just as he
had on that evening five years before, to school his rebellious heart.
To his knock a servant answered, and he was hurried up to the room of
Captain Lane. At every corner he expected Morgianna; but she did not
appear.
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