“‘Anything—everything,’ exclaimed I; and from that hour, Mr. Tramp, I only looked my love, at least, save when sighs and interjections contributed their insignificant aid.
I gave no expression to my consuming flame. Not the less progress, perhaps, did I make for that. You can educate a feature, sir, to do the work of four,—I could after a week or ten days look fifty different things, and she knew them,—ay, that she did, as though it were a book open before her.
“I could have strained my eyes to see through the canvas of a tent, Mr. Tramp, if she were inside of it. And she, had you but seen her looks! what archness and what softness,—how piquant, yet how playful,—what witchcraft and what simplicity! I must hasten on. We arrived within a day of our journey’s end. The next morning showed us the tall outline of Fort William against the sky. The hour was approaching in which I might declare my love, and declare it with some hope of a return!”
“Mr. Tramp,” said a waiter, hurriedly, interrupting Mr. Yellowley at this crisis of his tale, “Captain Smithet, of the ‘Hornet,’ says he has the steam up and will start in ten minutes.”
“Bless my heart,” cried I; “this is a hasty summons;” while snatching up my light travelling portmanteau, I threw my cloak over my shoulders at once.
“You ‘ll not go before I conclude my story,” cried Mr. Yellowley, with a voice of indignant displeasure.
“I regret it deeply, sir,” said I, “from my very heart; but I am the bearer of government despatches for Vienna; they are of the greatest consequence,—delay would be a ruinous matter.”
“I ‘ll go down with you to the quay,” cried Yellowley, seizing my arm; and we turned into the street together. It was still blowing a gale of wind, and a heavy sleet was drifting in our faces, so that he was compelled to raise his voice to a shout, to become audible.