A Love Story Part 5

"Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone, But trust not this; too easy youth, beware!

A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne.

And thou mayst find a new Calypso there."

Night had set in before Sir Henry reached the sh.o.r.e. The boatmen, in broken, but intelligible English, took the trouble of explaining, that they must row him to a point higher up the harbour, than the landing place towards which the commander's gig was directing its course, on account of his brother's regiment being quartered at Floriana. Landing on the quay, they took charge of Delme's portmanteau, and conducted him through an ascending road, which seemed to form a part of the fortifications, till they arrived in front of a closed gate. They were challenged by the sentinel, and obliged to explain their business to a non-commissioned officer, before they were admitted.

This form having been gone through, a narrow wicket was opened for their pa.s.sage. They crossed a species of common, and, after a few minutes'

walk, found themselves in front of the barrack. This was a plain stone building, enclosing a small court, in the centre of which stood a marble bason. The taste of some of the officers had peopled this with golden fish; whilst on the bason's brim were placed stands for exotics, whose fragrance charmed our sea-worn traveller, so lately emanc.i.p.ated from those sad drawbacks to a voyage, the odours of tar and bilge water.

On either side, were staircases leading to the rooms above. A sentry was slowly pacing the court, and gave Delme the necessary directions for finding George's room. Delme's hand was on the latch, but he paused for a moment ere he pressed it, for he pictured to himself his brother lying on the bed of sickness. This temporary irresolution soon gave way to the impulse of affection, and he hastily entered the chamber. George was reading, and had his back turned towards him. As he heard the footsteps, he half turned round; an enquiry was on his lip, when his eye caught Henry's figure--a hectic flush suffused his cheek--he rose eagerly, and threw himself into his brother's arms.

Ah! sweet is fraternal affection! As boys, we own its just, its proper influence; but as men--how few of us can lay our hands on our hearts, and in the time of manhood feel, that the thought of a brother, still calls up the kindly glow which it did in earlier years. Delme strained his brother to his heart, whilst poor George's tears flowed like a woman's.

"Ah, how," he exclaimed, "can I ever repay you for this?"

The first burst of joyful meeting over--Sir Henry scanned his brother's features, and was shocked at the apparent havoc a few short years had wrought. It was not that the cheek--whose carnation tint had once drawn a comment from all who saw it--it was not that the cheek was bronzed by an eastern sun. The alabaster forehead, showed that this was the natural result, of exposure to climate. But the wan, the sunken features--the unnatural brilliancy of the eye--the almost impetuous agitation of manner--all these bespoke that more than even sickness had produced the change:--that the mind, as well as body, must have had its sufferings.

"My dear, dear brother," said Henry, "tell me, I implore you, the meaning of this. You look ill and distressed, and yet from you I did not hear of sickness, nor do I know any reason for grief." George smiled evasively; then, as if recollecting himself, struck his forehead. He pressed his brother's arm, and led him towards a room adjoining the one in which they were.

"It were in vain to tell you now, Henry, the eventful history of the last few months; but see!" said he, as they together entered, "the innocent cause of much that I have gone through."

Sir Henry Delme started at the sight that greeted him. The room was dimly lighted by a lamp, but the moon was up, and shed her full light through part of the chamber. On a small French bed, whose silken linings threw their rosy hue on the face of its fair occupant, lay as lovely a girl as ever eye reposed on.

The heat had already commenced to become oppressive; the jalousies and windows were thrown open. As the night breeze swept over the curtains, and the tint these gave, trembled on that youthful beauty; Delme might well be forgiven, for deeming it was very long since he had seen a countenance so exquisitely lovely. The face did indeed bear the stamp of youth. Delme would have guessed that the being before him, had barely attained her fifteenth year, but that her bosom heaved like playful billows, as she breathed her sighs in a profound slumber. Her style of beauty for a girl was most rare. It had an almost infantine simplicity of character, which in sleep was still more remarkable; for awake, those eyes, now so still, did not throw unmeaning glances.

Such as these must Guarini have apostrophised, as he looked at his slumbering love.

"Occhi! stelle mortale!

Ministri de miei mali!

Se chiusi m'uccidete, Aperti,--che farete?"

Or, as Clarendon Gage translated it.

"Ye mortal stars! ye eyes that, e'en in sleep, Can thus my senses chain'd in wonder keep, Say, if when closed, your beauties thus I feel, Oh, what when open, would ye not reveal?"

Her beauty owed not its peculiar charm to any regularity of feature; but to an ineffable sweetness of expression, and to youth's freshest bloom.

Hafiz would have compared that smooth cheek to the tulip's flower. Her eye-lashes, of the deepest jet, and silken gloss, were of uncommon length. Her lips were apart, and disclosed small but exquisitely formed teeth. Their hue was not that of ivory, but the more delicate though more transient one of the pearl. One arm supported her head--its hand tangled in the raven tresses--of the other, the snowy rounded elbow was alone visible.

She met the eye, like a vision conjured up by fervid youth; when, ere our waking thoughts dare to run riot in beauty's contemplation--sleep, the tempter, gives to our disordered imaginations, forms and scenes, which in after life we pant for, but meet them--never!

George put his finger to his lips, as Delme regarded her--kissed her silken cheek, and whispered,

"Acme, carissima mia!"

The slumberer started--the envious eye-lid shrouded no more its l.u.s.trous jewel--the wondering eyes dilated, as they met her lover's--and she murmured something with that sweet Venetian lisp, in which the Greek women breathe their Italian. But, as she saw the stranger, her face and neck became suffused with crimson, and her small hand wrapped the snowy sheet round her beauteous form.

Sir Henry, who felt equally embarra.s.sed, returned to the room they had left; whilst George lingered by the bedside of his mistress, and told her it was his brother. Once more together, Sir Henry turned towards George.

"For G.o.d's sake," said he, "unravel this mystery! Who is this young creature?"

"Not now!" said his brother, "let us reserve it for to-morrow, and talk only of home. Acme has retired earlier than usual--she has been complaining." And he commenced with a flushed brow and rapid voice, to ask after those he loved.

"And so, dearest Emily will soon be married. I am glad of it; you speak so well of Gage! I wish I had stayed three weeks longer in England, and I should have seen him. We shall miss her in the flower garden, Henry!

Yes! and every where else! And how is my kind aunt? I forgot to thank her when I last wrote to Delme, for making Fidele a parlour inmate!--and I don't think she likes dogs generally either!--And Mrs. Wilc.o.x! as demure as ever?--Do you recollect the trick I played her the last April I was at home?--And my favourite pony! does _he_ still adorn the paddock, or is he gone at last? Emily wrote me he could hardly support himself out of the shed. And the old oak--have you railed it round as I advised? And the deer--Is my aunt still as tenacious of killing them? I suppose Emily's pet fawn is a fine antlered gentleman by this time. And your charger, Henry--how is he? And Mr. Sims? and the new green house?

Does the aviary succeed? did you get my slips of the blood orange? have the Zante melon seeds answered? And the daisy of Delme, f.a.n.n.y Porter--is she married? I stole a kiss the day I left. And so the coachman is dead?

and you have given the reins to Jenkins, and have taken my little fellow on your own establishment? And Ponto? and Ranger? and my friend Guess?"

Here George paused, quite out of breath; and his brother, viewing with some alarm his nervous agitation, attempted to answer his many queries; determined in his own mind, not to seek the explanation he so much longed for, until a more favourable period for demanding it arrived. The brothers continued conversing on English topics till a late hour, when Henry rose to retire.

"I cannot," said George, "give you a bed here to-night; but my servant shall show you the way to an hotel; and in the course of to-morrow, we will take care to have a room provided for you. You must feel hara.s.sed: will nine be too early an hour for breakfast?"

It was a beautiful night, still and starry. Till they arrived in the busy street, no sound could be heard, but the cautious opening of the lattice, answering the signal of the guitar. Escorted by his guide, Delme entered Valletta, which is bustling always, even at night; but was more than usually so, as there happened to be a fete at the palace. As they pa.s.sed through the Strado Teatro, the soldier pointed out the Opera-house; although from the lateness of the hour, Rossini's melodies were hushed. From a neighbouring cafe, however, festive sounds proceeded; and Delme, catching the words of an unfamiliar language, paused before the door to recognise the singer. The table at which he sat, was so densely enveloped in smoke, that it was some time before he could make out the forms of the party, which consisted of some jovial British midshipmen, and some Tartar-looking Russians. One of the Russian officers was charming his audience with a chanson a boire, acquired on the banks of the Vistula, His compatriots were yelling the chorus most unmercifully. A few caleche drivers, waiting for their fares, and two or three idle Maltese, were pacing outside the cafe, and appeared to regard the scene as one of frequent occurrence, and calculated to excite but little interest. His guide showed Delme the hotel, and was dismissed; and Sir Henry, preceded by an obsequious waiter, was introduced to a s.p.a.cious apartment facing the street.

It was long ere sleep visited him. He had many subjects on which to ruminate; there were many points which the morrow would clear up. His mind was too busy to permit him to rest.

When he did, however, close his eyes; he slept soundly, and did not awake till the broad glare of day, penetrating through the Venetian blinds, disclosed to him the unfamiliar apartment at Beverley's.

Chapter VIII.

The Invalid.

"'Mid many things most new to ear and eye, The pilgrim rested here his weary feet."

As Sir Henry Delme stepped from the hotel into the street, the sun's rays commenced to be oppressive, and, although it was only entering the month of May, served to remind him that he was in a warmer clime. The scene was already a bustling one. The shopkeepers were throwing water on the hot flag stones, and erecting canvas awnings in front of their doors. In the various cafes might be seen the subservient waiters, handing round the small gilded cup, which contained thick Turkish coffee, or carrying to some old smoker the little pipkin, whence he was to light his genial cigar. In front of one of these cafes, some English officers were collected, sipping ices, and criticising the relieving of the guard. Turning a corner of the princ.i.p.al street, a group of half black and three-parts naked children a.s.saulted our traveller, and vociferously invoked carita. They accompanied this demand by the corrupted cry of "nix munjay"--nothing to eat,--which they enforced by most expressive gestures, extending their mouths, and exhibiting rows of ravenous-looking teeth. The caleche drivers, too, were on the alert, and respectfully taking off their turbans, proffered their services to convey the Signore to Floriana. Delme declined their offers, and, pa.s.sing a draw-bridge which divides Valletta from the country, made his way through an embrasure, and descending some half worn stone steps--during which operation he was again surrounded by beggars--he found himself within sight of the barracks. Acme and George were ready to receive him. The latter's eye lit, as it was wont to do, on seeing his brother, whilst the young Greek appeared in doubt, whether to rejoice at what gave him pleasure, or to stand in awe of a relation, whose influence over George might shake her own. This did not, however, prevent her offering Delme her hand, with an air of great frankness and grace. Nor was he less struck with her peculiar beauty than he had been on the night previous. Her dress was well adapted to exhibit her charms to the greatest advantage. Her hair was parted in front, and smoothly combed over her neck and shoulders, descending to her waist. Over her bosom, and fastened by a chased silver clasp, was one of the saffron handkerchiefs worn by the Parganot women. A jacket of purple velvet, embroidered with gold, fitted closely to her figure.

Round her waist was a crimson girdle, fastened by another enormous broach, or rather embossed plate of silver. A Maltese gold rose chain of exquisite workmanship was flung round her neck, to which depended a locket, one side of which held, encased in gla.s.s, George's hair braided with her own; the other had a cameo, representing the death of the patriot Marco Bozzaris.

"Giorgio tells me," said she, "that you speak Italian, at which I am very glad; for his efforts to teach me English have quite failed. Do you know you quite alarmed me last night, and I really think it was too bad of George introducing you when he did;" and she placed her hand on her lover's shoulder, and looked in his face confidingly. In spite of the substance of her speech, and the circ.u.mstances under which Delme saw her, he could not avoid feeling an involuntary prepossession in her favour. Her manner had little of the polish of art, but much of nature's witching simplicity; and Sir Henry felt surprised at the ease and animation of the whole party. Acme presided at the breakfast table, with a grace which many a modern lady of fashion might envy; and during the meal, her conversation, far from being dull or listless, showed that she had much talent, and that to a quick perception of nature's charms, she united great enthusiasm in their pursuit. The meal was over, when the surgeon of the regiment was announced, and introduced by George to Sir Henry. After making a few inquiries as to the invalid's state of health, he proposed to Delme, taking a turn in the botanical garden, which was immediately in front of their windows.

Sir Henry eagerly grasped at the proposition; anxious, as he felt himself, to ascertain the real circ.u.mstances connected with his brother's indisposition. They strolled through the garden, which was almost deserted--for none but dogs and Englishmen, to use the expression of the natives, court the Maltese noon-day sun,--and the surgeon at once entered into George's history. He was a man of most refined manners, and a cultivated intellect, and his professional familiarity with horrors, had not diminished his natural delicacy of feeling. His narrative was briefly thus:--

George Delme's bosom companion had been an officer of his own age and standing in the service, with whom he had embarked when leaving England.

Their intercourse had ripened into the closest friendship. George had met Acme, although the surgeon knew not the particulars of the rencontre,--had confided to his friend the acquaintance he had made--and had himself introduced Delancey at the house where Acme resided. Whether her charms really tempted the friend to endeavour to supplant George, or whether he considered the latter's attentions to the young Greek to be without definite object, and undertaken in a spirit of indifference, the narrator could not explain; but it was not long before Delancey considered himself as a princ.i.p.al in the transaction. Acme, whose knowledge of the world was slight, and whose previous seclusion from society, had rendered her timidity excessive, considered that her best mode of avoiding importunities she disliked, and attentions that were painful to her, would be to speak to George himself on the subject.

By this time, the latter, quite fascinated by her beauty and simplicity, and deeming, as was indeed the fact, that his love was returned, needed not other inquietudes than those his attachment gave him. The pride of ancestry and station on the one hand--on the other, a deep affection, and a wish to act n.o.bly by Acme--caused an internal struggle which made him open to any excitement, nervously alive to any wrong. He sought his friend, and used reproaches, which rendered it imperative that they should meet as foes. Delancey was wounded; and as _he_ thought--and it was long doubtful whether it _were_ so--_mortally_. He beckoned George Delme to his bedside--begged him to forgive him--told him that his friendship had been the greatest source of delight to him--a friendship which in his dying moments he begged to renew--that far from feeling pain at his approaching dissolution, he conceived that he had merited all, and only waited his full and entire forgiveness to die happy. George Delme wrung his hands in the bitterness of despair--prayed him to live for his sake--told him, that did he not, his own life hereafter would be one of the deepest misery,--that the horrors of remorse would weigh him down to his grave. The surgeon was the first to terminate a scene, which he a.s.sured Delme was one of the most painful it had ever been his lot to witness. This meeting, though of so agitating a nature, seemed to have a beneficial effect on the wounded man. He sunk into a sweet sleep; and on awaking, his pulse was lower, and his symptoms less critical.

He improved gradually, and was now convalescent. But it was otherwise with George Delme. He sought the solitude of his chamber, a prey to the agonies of a self-reproaching spirit. He considered himself instrumental in taking the life of his best friend--of one, richly endowed with the loftiest feelings humanity can boast. His nerves previously had been unstrung; body and mind sank under the picture his imagination had conjured up. His servant was alarmed by startling screams, entered his room, and found his master in fearful convulsions. A fever ensued, during which George's life hung by a thread. To this succeeded a long state of unconsciousness, occasionally broken by wild delirium.

During his illness, there was one who never left him--who smoothed his pillow--who supported his head on her breast--who watched him as a mother watches her first-born. It was the youthful Greek, Acme Frascati.

The instant she heard of his danger, she left her home to tend him. No entreaties could influence her, no arguments persuade. She would sit by his bedside for hours, his feverish hand locked in hers, and implore him to recover, to bless one who loved him so dearly. They could not part them; for George, even in his delirious state, seemed to be conscious that some one was near him, and, did she leave his side, would rise in his bed, and look around him as if missing some accustomed object. In his wilder flights, he would call pa.s.sionately upon her, and beg her to save his friend, who was lying so dead and still.

For a length of time, neither care nor professional skill availed.

Fearful was the struggle, between his disease, and a naturally hardy const.i.tution. Reason at last resumed her dominion. "I know not," said the surgeon, "the particulars of the first dawning of consciousness. It appears that Acme was alone with him, and that it was at night. I found him on my professional visit one morning, clear and collected, and his mistress sobbing her thanks. I need perhaps hardly inform you," said the narrator, "that George's grat.i.tude to Acme was vividly expressed. It was in vain I urged on her the propriety of now leaving her lover. This was met on both sides by an equal disinclination, and indeed obstinate refusal; and I feared the responsibility I should incur, by enforcing a separation which might have proved of dangerous consequence to my patient. Alas! for human nature, Sir Henry! need it surprise you that the consequences were what they are? Loving him with the fervency of one born under an eastern sun--with the warm devotion of woman's first love--with slender ideas of Christian morality--and with a mind accustomed to obey its every impulse--need it, I say, surprise you, that the one fell, and that remorse visited the other? To that remorse, do I attribute what my previous communication may not have sufficiently prepared you for; namely, the little dependence to be placed on the tone of the invalid's mind. Reason is but as a glimmering in a socket; and painful as my professional opinion may be to you, it is my duty to avow it; and I frankly confess, that I entertain serious apprehensions, as to the stability of his mind's restoration. It is on this account, that I have felt so anxious that one of his relations should be near him.