"Not you go so fast, Signore; he good horse, but much tire."
The riders sat in their saddles swinging from side to side, evidently thinking their tenure more precarious than that on the giddy mast; and wholly unmindful of the expressive gestures, and mournful ejaculations of the bare-legged pursuers. At another time, their antics and buffoonery, as they made unmerciful use of the short sticks with which they were armed, would have provoked a smile. Now our party gazed on these things as they move the wise. They felt calm and happy; and deceptive hope whispered they might yet remain so. Acmé took up her guitar, and throwing her fingers over it, as she gave a soft prelude, warbled that sweet although common song, "Buona notte, amato bene." She sung with great feeling, and feeling is the soul of music.
How plaintively! how tenderly did her lips breathe the
"ricordati! ricordati di me!"
There was something extremely witching in her precocious charms. She resembled some beauteous bud, just ready to burst into light and bloom. It is not yet the rose,--but a moment more may make it such. Her beauties were thus ripe for maturity. It seemed as if the sunshine of love were already upon them--they were basking in its rays. A brief space--and the girl shall no longer be such. What was promise shall be beauty. She shall meet the charmed eye a woman; rich in grace and loveliness. As Delmé marked her sympathising glance at George--her beaming features--her innocent simplicity;--as he thought of all she had lost, all she had suffered for his brother's sake,--as he thought of the scorn of the many--the pity of the few--the unwearied watching--the sleepless nights--the day of sorrow passed by the bed of sickness--all so cheerfully encountered for him--he could not reproach her. No! he took her hand, and the brothers whispered consolation to her, and to each other.
Late that evening, they were joined by Colonel Vavasour, and Mr. Graham. George's spirits rose hourly. Never had his Colonel appeared to such advantage--Acmé so lovely--or Henry so kind--as they did to George Delmé that night.
It was with a sigh at the past pleasures that George retired to his chamber.
Chapter XII.
The Mess.
"Red coats and redder faces."