She had been awake when he first entered her room,
but had kept her eyes closed, so that even her wakefulness
should not seem to reproach him. But when he
had returned, so soon after herself, too, this timid
little heart had felt more at ease, and turning towards
him as he stept softly out of the room, she had fallen
into a light sleep. George came in and looked
at her again, entering still more softly. By
the pale night-lamp he could see her sweet, pale face—
the purple eyelids were fringed and closed, and one
round arm, smooth and white, lay outside of the coverlet.
Good God! how pure she was; how gentle, how tender,
and how friendless! and he, how selfish, brutal,
and black with crime! Heart-stained, and shame-stricken,
he stood at the bed’s foot, and looked at the
sleeping girl. How dared he—who was
he, to pray for one so spotless! God bless her!
God bless her! He came to the bedside, and looked
at the hand, the little soft hand, lying asleep; and
he bent over the pillow noiselessly towards the gentle
pale face.
Two fair arms closed tenderly round his neck as he
stooped down. “I am awake, George,”
the poor child said, with a sob fit to break the little
heart that nestled so closely by his own. She
was awake, poor soul, and to what? At that moment
a bugle from the Place of Arms began sounding clearly,
and was taken up through the town; and amidst the
drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the
Scotch, the whole city awoke.
CHAPTER XXX
“The Girl I Left Behind Me”
We do not claim to rank among the military novelists.
Our place is with the non-combatants. When the
decks are cleared for action we go below and wait
meekly. We should only be in the way of the
manoeuvres that the gallant fellows are performing
overhead. We shall go no farther with the —th
than to the city gate: and leaving Major O’Dowd
to his duty, come back to the Major’s wife, and
the ladies and the baggage.
Now the Major and his lady, who had not been invited
to the ball at which in our last chapter other of
our friends figured, had much more time to take their
wholesome natural rest in bed, than was accorded to
people who wished to enjoy pleasure as well as to do
duty. “It’s my belief, Peggy, my
dear,” said he, as he placidly pulled his nightcap
over his ears, “that there will be such a ball
danced in a day or two as some of ’em has never
heard the chune of”; and he was much more happy
to retire to rest after partaking of a quiet tumbler,
than to figure at any other sort of amusement.
Peggy, for her part, would have liked to have shown
her turban and bird of paradise at the ball, but for
the information which her husband had given her, and
which made her very grave.
“I’d like ye wake me about half an hour
before the assembly beats,” the Major said to
his lady. “Call me at half-past one, Peggy
dear, and see me things is ready. May be I’ll
not come back to breakfast, Mrs. O’D.”
With which words, which signified his opinion that
the regiment would march the next morning, the Major
ceased talking, and fell asleep.
