"She did, then, love me! I clasped her to my arms--our lips clung together in one rapturous intoxicating embrace.
"Yet, even in that moment of delirium, Henry, I told her of you, and of the many obstacles which still presented themselves to retard or even prevent our union. I sought my friend Delancey, and remonstrated with him. He appeared to doubt my right to question his motives. Success made me feel still more injured. I showered down reproaches. He could not have acted differently. We met! and I saw him fall! Till then, I had considered myself as the injured man; but as I heard him on the ground name his mother, and one dearer still--as he took from his breast the last gift she had made him--as he begged of me to be its bearer; I then first felt remorse. He was taken to his room. Even the surgeon entertained no hopes. He again called me to his side; I heard his noble acknowledgment, his reiterated vows of friendship, the mournful tones of his farewell. I entered this room a heart-broken man. I felt my pulse throb fearfully, a gasping sensation was in my throat, my head swam round, and I clung to the wall for support. The next thing of which I have any recollection, was the dawn of reason breaking through my troubled dreams. It was midnight--all was still. The fitful lamp shone dimly through my chamber. I turned on my side--and, oh! by its light, I saw the face I most loved--that face, whose gentle lineaments, were each deeply and separately engraven on my heart. I saw her bending over me with a maiden's love and a mother's solicitude. As I essayed to speak--as my conscious eye met her's--as the soft words of affection were involuntarily breathed by my feeble lips--how her features lit up with joy! Oh, say not, Henry, till you have experienced such a moment of transport, say not that the lips which then vowed eternal fidelity, that the young hearts which then plighted their truth, and vowed to love for ever--oh call not these guilty!
"Since that time my health has been extremely precarious. Whether the events crowded too thickly on me, or that I have not fully recovered my health, or--which I confess I think is the case--that my compunctions for my conduct to Acmé weigh me down, I know not; but it is not always, my dear Henry, that I can thus address you. There are hours when I am hardly sensible of what I do, when my brain reels from its oppression. At such times, Acmé is my guardian angel--my tender nurse--my affectionate attendant! In my lucid intervals, she is what you see her--the gentle companion--the confiding friend. I love her, Henry, more than I can tell you! I shall never be able to leave her! From Acmé you may learn more of those dreary hours, which appear to me like waste dreams in my existence. She has watched by my bed of sickness, till she knows every turn of the disorder. From her, Henry, may you learn all."
Thus did George conclude his tale of passion; which Delmé mused over, but refrained from commenting on.
Soon afterwards, George's calèche, in which he daily took exercise, was announced as being at the door. The brothers entered, and left Floriana.
Chapter X.
The Calèche.
"The car rattling through the stony street."
For an easy conveyance, commend us to a Maltese calèche! Many a time, assaulted by the blue devils, have we taken refuge in its solacing interior--have pulled down its silken blinds, and unseeing and unseen, the motion, like that of the rocking-cradle to the petulant child of less mature growth, has restored complacency, and lulled us to good humour. The calèche, the real calèche, is, we believe, peculiar to Malta. It is the carriage of the rich and poor--Lady Woodford may be seen employing it, to visit her gardens at St. Antonio; and in the service of the humblest of her subjects, will it be enlisted, as they wend their way to a picnic in the campagna. Every variety of steed is put in requisition for its draught.
We may see the barb, with nostril of fire, and mane playing with the wind, perform a curvet, as he draws our aristocratic countrywoman--aristocratic and haughty at least in Malta, although, in England, perhaps a star of much less magnitude.