Miss Wildenheim's present chaperone was a very elegant pleasing Irish woman, who added to the ease of well bred manners that sort of kindliness, which appears in those of her countrywomen in general. She was of good family, and was so well assured of her own place in society, that she never took the least trouble to impress any body else with an idea of her consequence; but her unaffected simplicity of dress, manner, and deportment, were the best credentials she could present to those accustomed to move in the same rank of life with herself. Adelaide and she understood each other at once: before their acquaintance had lasted half an hour, a casual observer would have supposed they had long been known to each other.
It was a most delightful night, the ship was smoothly cutting her rapid way before a fair, wind, and as it passed, the rippling waters sparkled with the beams of the moon. Colonel Desmond, leaning carelessly over the side of the vessel, half sung, half hummed, this verse, translated from an ancient Irish song:—
The moon calmly sleeps on the ocean,
And tinges each white bosom'd sail;
The bark, scarcely conscious of motion,
Glides slowly before the soft gale.
How vain are the charms they discover,
My heart from its sorrows to draw!
Whilst memory carries me over
To Ma cailin beog chruite nambo.
Adelaide thought the sound of his well remembered voice "pleasant and mournful to the soul, like the memory of joys that are past;" and it was insensibly leading her into a train of ideas, which she was not sorry to have interrupted by general conversation. How much did she enjoy the delightful freshness of the night, and the enlivening sallies of her animated companions; they were, however, at length terminated by Mr. St. Orme complaining of the increasing chilliness of the air, and proposing that she and her fair companion should take refuge from it in the body of her barouche, which was on deck. There they passed the remainder of the night most comfortably; and, when the sun rose, Miss Wildenheim was very sorry to hear they were entering the bay of Dublin, as she recollected her landing would put an end to the temporary release the packet had afforded her from the annoyances of the Webberly family.
CHAPTER XV.
To sail in unknown seas,
To land in countries hitherto unseen,
To breathe a fresh invigorating air:
——All this, I am convinced,
Will renovate me a second time,
To be what once I was.
Lloyd's Myrha.