A Love Story
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 Delmé the necessary directions for
finding George's room. Delmé'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. Delmé 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 Delmé 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; Delmé 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. Delmé 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 Delmé regarded her--kissed her
silken cheek, and whispered,
"Acmé, carissima mia!"
The slumberer started--the envious eye-lid shrouded no more its lustrous
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 embarrassed, 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 God'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. Acmé 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 Delmé, for making Fidèle a parlour inmate!--and
I don't think she likes dogs generally either!--And Mrs. Wilcox! 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 Delmé, Fanny 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 harassed:
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,
Delmé entered Valletta, which is bustling always, even at night; but was
more than usually so, as there happened to be a fête at the palace. As
they passed 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 café, however, festive sounds
proceeded; and Delmé, 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 à boire, acquired on
the banks of the Vistula, His compatriots were yelling the chorus most
unmercifully. A few calèche 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 Delmé the hotel, and was dismissed;
and Sir Henry, preceded by an obsequious waiter, was introduced to a
spacious 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 Delmé 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 cafés 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 cafés, some
English officers were collected, sipping ices, and criticising the
relieving of the guard. Turning a corner of the principal street, a
group of half black and three-parts naked children assaulted our
traveller, and vociferously invoked carità. 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 calèche drivers, too,
were on the alert, and respectfully taking off their turbans, proffered
their services to convey the Signore to Floriana. Delmé declined their
offers, and, passing 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. Acmé 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 Delmé 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