Something about the stately general of infantry, drew me irresistibly toward him. His bearing was lofty, and not without a species of hauteur; but under all was an exquisite high-breeding and courtesy, which made his society quite charming.
At some words of mine, however, in reference to my visit on this day to his son, a decided expression of gloom had obscured the smiles of the old soldier.
“Yes, colonel,” he said, with something like a sigh, “Willie has lost his good spirits, and has been much depressed for more than a year. You are his friend—you share his confidence—you doubtless know the origin of this depression.”
“I do, general; a very common cause of trouble to young men—a young lady.”
“A young lady,” repeated General Davenant, in the same gloomy tone. “He has committed the imprudence of falling in love, as the phrase is, with—Miss Conway.”
He paused before the words “Miss Conway,” and uttered them with evident repugnance. They issued from his lips, indeed, with a species of jerk; and he seemed glad to get rid of them, if I may so express myself.
“I can talk of this affair with you, colonel,” he added, gloomily, “for Will has told me of your regard for him.”
I bowed, and said:—
“You are not wrong in supposing that I am one of your son’s best friends, general. I was long in the cavalry with him—there is no more heroic soldier in the army—and it has given me sincere sorrow to see him laboring under such melancholy.”
General Davenant, with his hand covering his brow, listened in silence.