“I perceive you are looking at your watch, Mr. Tramp.”
“I must indeed ask your pardon. I sail for Calais at the next ebb.”
“I shall not be tedious now, sir. We began ‘the overland,’—the angel travelling as Lady Blanche Yellowley, to avoid any possible inquiry or impertinence from the official people. This was arranged between Virginie and myself, without her knowledge. Then, indeed, began my Arabian nights. Ah, Mr. Tramp, you never can know the happiness enjoyed by him who, travelling for fourteen long hours over the hot sand, and beneath the scorching sun of the desert, comes at last to stretch his wearied limbs upon his carpet at evening, and gazes on celestial beauty as he sips his mocha. Mahomet had a strong case, depend upon it, when he furnished his paradise with a houri and a hubble-bubble; and such nights were these, as we sat and chatted over the once glories of that great land, while in the lone khan of the desert would be heard the silvery sounds of a fair woman’s voice, as she sung some little barcarole, or light Venetian canzonette. Ah, Mr. Tramp, do you wonder if I loved—do you wonder if I confessed my love? I did both, sir,—ay, sir, both.
“I told her my heart’s secret in an impassioned moment, and, with the enthusiasm of true affection, explained my position and my passion.
“‘I am your slave,’ said I, with trembling adoration,—‘your slave, and the Secretary at Santancantantarabad. You own my heart. I possess nothing but a Government situation and three thousand per annum. I shall never cease to love you, and my widow must have a pension from the Company.’
“She covered her face with her handkerchief as I spoke, and her sobs—they must have been sobs—actually penetrated my bosom.
“‘You must speak of this no more, dear Mr. Yellowley,’ said she, wiping her eyes; ‘you really must not, at least until I arrive at Calcutta.’
“‘So you consent to go that far,’ cried I, in ecstasy.
“She seemed somewhat confused at her own confession, for she blushed and turned away; then said, in a voice of some hesitation,—
“‘Will you compel me to relinquish the charm of your too agreeable society, or will you make me the promise I ask?’