“Kind neighbour, thank you, thank you; where’s Emmy? take me to my Emmy;” and the iron-hearted veteran wept like a driveller.

Sir Abraham looked at him queerly:  and then, in a cheerful, friendly way, replied—­

“Dear general, do not be so moved:  the girl’s quite safe with us; you’ll see her to-morrow morning.  All’s right; she was only frightened, and George has given the fellow a proper good licking:  and the girl’s a-bed, you know; and, eh? what?”—­

For the poor old man, like one bereaved, said, supplicatingly—­

“In mercy take me to her—­precious child!”

“My dear sir—­pray consider—­it’s impossible; fine girl, you know;—­Lady Tamworth, too—­can’t be, can’t be, you know, general.”

And the mystified Sir Abraham looked to Saunders for an explanation—­

“Was his master drunk?”

“I must speak to her, neighbour; I must, must, and will—­dear, dear child:  come up with me, sir, come; do not trifle with a breaking heart, neighbour!”

There was a heart still in that hard-baked old East Indian.

It was impossible to resist such an appeal:  so the two elders crept up stairs, and knocked softly at her chamber-door.  Clearly, the girl was asleep:  she had sobbed herself to sleep; the general had been looked for all day long, and she was worn with watching; he could hardly come at midnight; so the dear affectionate child had sobbed herself to sleep.

“Allow me, Sir Abraham.”  And General Tracy whispered something at the key-hole in a strange tongue.

Not Aladdin’s “open Sesame” could have been more magical.  In a moment, roused up suddenly from sleep, and forgetting every thing but those tender recollections of gentle care in infancy, and kindness all through life, the child of nature startled out of bed, drew the bolt, and in beauteous disarray, fell into that old man’s arms!

It was enough; he had seen her eye to eye—­she lived:  and the white-haired veteran, suffered himself to be led away directly from the landing, like a child, by his sympathizing neighbour.

“My heart is lighter now, Sir Abraham:  but I am a poor weak old man, and owe you an explanation for this outburst; some day—­some day, not now.  O, if you could guess how I have nursed that pretty babe when alone in distant lands; how I have doated on her little winning ways, and been gladdened by the music of her prattle; how I have exulted to behold her loveliness gradually expanding, as she was ever at my side, in peril as in peace, in camp as in quarters, in sickness as in health, still—­still, the blessed angel of a bad man’s life—­a wicked, hard old man, kind neighbour—­if you knew more—­more, than for her sake I dare tell you—­and if you could conceive the love my Emmy bears for me, you would not think it strange—­think it strange—­” He could not say a syllable more; and the admiral, with Mr. Saunders, too, who joined them in the study, looked very little able to console that poor old man.  For they all had hearts, and trickling eyes to tell them.