Rafela, Wife of Sir William Boothby, Bart.
Mother of Captain Charles Boothby, R.E.
But in fact I was but ill satisfied with the summons, for the Austrian war was but vaguely rumoured, and nothing but the éclat and spunk of some dashing and prompt expedition could make going abroad agreeable to me. My own regrets, however, I was once again obliged to smother, and my own tastes to kick downstairs that I might communicate some degree of consistency and firmness to my aching family, and in this task my brother was my second self.
The next day the whole party met again at the Lumleys’. It will appear strange when I say that we were in better spirits than I wished, for in spite of all I could say, they would not abandon the hope that some event or other would put off the expedition.
As the post time drew near, my father grew grave, and I could see he dreaded a final summons; and even as he dreaded, a large Government letter, like the one before, was put into my hand. I dare not look at my father. My mother, to be out of the way, ran upstairs.
When I had glanced over it, with what alacrity did I put into my father’s hand what I knew would quiet his old heart and illumine his benignant features. It was a simple counter order.
My mother and sister were not long before dancing with joy. It was an harmonious uproar, very delightful to see, and I joined in it with all my heart; to rejoice when they were rejoicing was too natural to my heart to be restrained.
The next day my brother and myself went to spend a night at Welbeck. On returning, the little party met us at the end of the village; they walked slow, and were sorrowful.
The counter order was annulled, and the order for foreign service in force.
For all that the world holds I would not retrace the bitterness of separation.