A Love Story Part 12

The soldier turned away--one large drop burst o'er the lid, and trickled down his sun-burnt cheek.

With the back of his hand, he brushed it off indignantly.

His converse may be rough--his manner rude--his hand ever ready for quarrel;--but, believe us! ye who deem the soldier beneath his fellow-men,--that the life of change--of chance--of hardship--and of danger--which is his, freezes not the kindlier emotions of the soul, if it sweep away its sicklier refinements. Beneath the red vest, beat hearts as warm and true, as ever throbbed beneath operative ap.r.o.n, or swelled under softest robe of ermine.

George was moved by the man's evidently sincere grief. He reached the bottom of the stairs. The company to which he belonged was drawn up in the court yard.

In front of it, the four tallest men supported a chair, and almost before George Delme was aware of their purpose, bore him to it, and lifted him on their shoulders, amidst the huzzas of their comrades. The band, too, which had voluntarily attended, now struck up the march which George delighted to hear; and, followed by his company, he was carried triumphantly towards the mole.

George's heart was full.

Sir Henry felt deeply interested in the scene; and poor Acme leant on his arm, and wept with joy.

Yes! there are moments in life, and this was one, when the approval of our inferiors awakens a degree of pride and mental satisfaction, that no panegyric of our superiors, no expressions of esteem from our equals, could have ever called forth. Such approval meets us, as the spontaneous effusion of hearts that have looked up to ours, and have _not_ been deceived.

This pride was it that flushed George's cheek, and illumed with brightness his swimming eye. He was thus carried till he arrived at the spot where his boat should have been. It was already, with Thompson and their baggage, half way towards the vessel. In its place was the regimental gig, manned by George's best friends. Its steersman was Colonel Vavasour, drest in the fanciful aquatic costume his regiment had adopted.

Trifling as this may appear, this act of his Colonel, seemed to George the very highest compliment that had ever been paid him.

George Delme turned to his company, and with choking voice thanked them for this last mark of attention. We are very certain that a shake of the hand from a prince, would not have delighted him as much, as did the hearty farewell greeting of his rough comrades.

Even Acme blushingly went up to the chair-supporters, and, with a winning smile, extended her small hand. Vavasour a.s.sisted her into the gig, and it was with a bounding elasticity of spirit, to which he had long been a stranger, that George followed. As the boat cut through the water, they were greeted with a last and deafening huzza.

In a short time they were alongside the vessel. The captain was pacing the deck, and marking the signs of the wind, with the keen eye of the sailor. A chair was lowered for Acme. She shook hands with the rowers.

George parted from them as if they had been brothers, and from Colonel Vavasour last of all.

"Take care of yourself, my dear boy," said the latter, "do not forget to write us; we shall all be anxious to know how you have stood the voyage."

As the gig once more shot its way homewards, and many a friendly handkerchief waved its adieu, George felt, that sad as the parting was, he should have felt it more _bitterly_ if they had loved him less.

To divert their minds from thoughts of a melancholy nature, Sir Henry, as the boat made a turn of the land, and was no longer visible, proposed exploring the cabin. This they found small, but cleanly. Some hampers of fruit, and a quant.i.ty of ice, exhibited agreable proofs of the attention of Acme's relations. We may, by the way, observe, that rarely does the sense of the palate a.s.sert its supremacy with greater force than on board-ship. There will the _thought_--much more the _reality_--of a mellow pine--or juicy pomegranate--cause the mouth to water for the best part of a long summer's day. On their ascending the deck, the captain approached Sir Henry.

"No offence! Sir; but I guess the wind is fair. If you want nothing ash.o.r.e, we will off, Sir, _now_! if you please."

Delme acquiesced.

How disagreable is the act of leaving harbour in a merchant ship!

Even sailors dislike it, and growl between their teeth, like captive bears. The chains of the anchor clank gratingly on the ear. The very chorus of the seamen smacks of the land, and wants the rich and free tone that characterises it in mid-sea. Hoa.r.s.e are the mandates of the boat-swain! his whistle painfully shrill! The captain walks the deck thoughtfully, and frowningly ruminates on his bill of lading--or on some over-charge in the dock duties--or, it may be, on his dispute on sh.o.r.e with a part owner of the vessel.

And anon, he shakes off these thoughts, and looks on the weather-side--then upwards at the the masts--and, as he notes the proceedings, his orders are delivered fiercely, and his pa.s.sions seem ungovernable.

The vessel, too, seems to share the general feeling--is loath to leave the port.

She unsteadily answers the call of her canvas--her rigging creaks--and her strong sides groan--as she begins lazily and slowly to make her way.

Glad to turn their attention to anything rather than the scene around, George began conversing on the effect the attentions of his company and brother officers had had on him.

"Their kindness," said George, "was wholly unexpected by me, and I felt it very deeply. An hour before, I fancied that Acme and my own family monopolised every sympathy I possessed. But, thank G.o.d! the heart has many hidden channels through which kindness may steal, and infuse its genial balm."

"_I_ felt it, too, George!" said his brother, "and was anxious as to the effect the scene might have on you. I am glad it _was_ unexpected. We are sometimes better enabled to enact our parts improvising them, than when we have schooled ourselves, and braced all our energies to the one particular purpose.

"Acme, how did you like the way George's men behaved?"

"It made me weep with joy," replied the young Greek, "for I love all who love my Giorgio."

Chapter XVIII.

The Adieu.

"Adieu! the joys of La Valette."

"No more! no more! No! never more on me The freshness of the heart shall fall like dew."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Isle of Beauty! fare thee well."

Malta! the snowy sail shivers in the wind--the waves, chafed by our intruding keel, are proudly foaming--sea birds soar, screaming their farewell aloft--as we wave our hand to thee for ever! What is our feeling, as we see thee diminish hourly?

Regret! unfeigned regret!

Albeit we speed to our native land, on the wing of a bark as fleet as ever--but it matters not--_thou_ hast seen the best of our days.

Visions conjured up by thee, have the unusual power, to banish antic.i.p.ations of Almack's glories, and of home flirtations.

We are recalling b.a.l.l.s enjoyed in thee, loved island! the valse spun round with the darling fleet-footed Maltese, who during its pauses leant back on our arm, against which her spangled zone throbbed, from the pulsations of her heart.

Dreams of turtle and of grand master--the _fish_, not the _official_--and of consecutive iced champagne, mock our sight! But more--yes! far more than all, are we reminded of thy abode--thou dispenser of cheering liquids! thou promoter of convivial happiness!

meek Saverio! How swiftly glided the mirth-loving nights as--the enchanting strains of the prima donna hushed--we adjourned to thy ever to be praised bottegua!

With what precision didst thou there mete out the many varied ingredients--the exact relative proportions--which can alone embody our conception of the nectar of the G.o.ds, punch a la Romaine!

Whose cigars ever equalled thine, thou prince of Ganymedes? and when were cigars more justly appreciated, than as our puffs kept time with the trolling ditty, resounding through the walls of thy domain?

The luxury of those days!

Then would Sol come peeping in upon us; as unwelcome and unlooked-for a visitant, as to the enamoured Juliet, when she sighing told her lover that

"'Twas but a meteor that the sun exhaled, To be to him that night a torch-bearer, And light him on his way to Mantua."