He then sought his own room, first asking Jeanie Forbes, who watched outside, to wait a few minutes whilst he penned a note. He sat down and hurriedly wrote the verses we have already made our readers acquainted with, from his memory, and, folding them up, sent them to Lady Florence by Jeanie, to whom he gave a valuable ring, as a memento.
Early next morning our hero arose, and, unable to eat more than an apology of a breakfast with Lord Wentworth, who alone was up, prepared to leave for ever. He never came back.
"Give my love to Ellen, and to your sister," he said, as he got into the post-chaise, which was to tear him from all he prized. He felt a choking sensation from grief as he said the words.
"I will. God bless you, my boy! win laurels and then lady-love!" said the Earl, shaking hands.
Just as the carriage was starting Jeanie Forbes hurried up and pressed a note into his hand. He could hardly read it, so dizzy grew his brain. On the outside were the words "Look to my window."
The carriage started. As it crossed the bridge he looked towards the window of the room in which all that was dear then was. He saw a white figure, and a whiter arm that waved a kerchief. He kissed his hand; and then an envious corner of the castle hid all from his view. Again the window re-appeared as he drove smartly down the park road. He looked back, his eye fixed on that lattice, and the white kerchief and the arm that waved it! But the horses cruelly trotted on; it grew fainter and further—further and fainter—dimmer still—until not even an eye of fondest hero could detect it any more.
He sank back with a feeling of utter heartbroken and sickening grief—as if deserted by all he loved. Had she asked him then, he had thrown honour, glory, duty to the winds!
As he drove on, the first poignancy passed away, and he began to break the seal of the note he had not yet read. As he opened it a long tress of her golden hair fell out at his feet. He picked it up and pressed it to his lips. The letter ran thus:—
"Dearest Johnny,
"I am punished for my vanity; but let it pass. It is vain to lament what is done. You did right. Had you stayed I would not have loved you half as much as I now do, though it would have gratified my wishes. Johnny, I shall ever think of you in my prayers—when tossed on the restless billow—when on the battle-field—when on the sultry march. When at even you see the star we have gazed on so oft, you will think it is the morning star of my hopes! Farewell, Johnny! And whether we meet again or not, our vows shall never be broken. Farewell! If you come back you will find Florence faithful. Nothing but death shall then part us. And, if you die a soldier's death, you shall have it watered with Florence's tears.