I felt piqued, and an emotion somewhat of bitterness and mortification stole into my heart; and while secretly cursing alike the rules of society and my own false position, I thanked her for the kind invitation, but without the least intention of availing myself of it. After this, I became a little reserved; but it was a difficult task to be so with the young lady, who was a lovely girl, and lively too. She conversed with me gaily, and asked if I longed for foreign service; if I thought the war would be protracted; if we were sure to beat the French; if I was not afraid—she begged pardon for such a silly question—of being shot in battle; and a hundred other pretty nothings, while her sweet face and sparkling eyes seemed to come out of the gloom of the travelling carriage, and then to fade into it again, as we passed an occasional dim street-lamp, all of which in those by-gone days I need scarcely say were lighted by oil.
At the bridge of Westminster, which had been built about ten years before, I bade them adieu, and with something like a sigh of regret, departed in search of some humble hostelry wherein to pass the night.
This brief meeting—the whole episode in all its details interested me deeply. Those women so highly bred, so delicately nurtured, so richly dressed, so gentle and winning in manner, were so different from those whom I was now compelled to meet, in camp and barracks, at the canteen and sutler's tent, that for the first time my heart repined at the prospect before me.
"Pshaw!" said I, "let me think of this no more." But near a lamp I reined up to examine the lady's card, and searched my pockets in vain. I had lost it!
"It matters little," thought I; "and yet, withal, I should like to have known their names." And amid the roar and bustle of the lighted streets of London, I still seemed to hear the merry laugh and gentle voice of the fair-haired girl whose hand I had so recently held in mine.
CHAPTER XII.
THE RACE.
All the adventures of the preceding night appeared but a dream, when early next morning—at least so early as I could hope to find any high officials at their office—I rode through the crowded streets of London, and delivered the despatch of Commodore Howe at the Admiralty.
"Immediate" being written on the envelope, I had to remain in a waiting-room for more than an hour, after which the answer was entrusted to me, addressed, "On H.M. Service," to Commodore Howe. As I afterwards learned from the public prints, this document, among other instructions, empowered him to avail himself of "the services and information of the two French deserters named on the margin—Theophile Damien and Benoit Bossoit."
I consigned it to my sabretasche, remounted, and quitted London at a quick pace about two p.m.