The tall ship--the slender mole--the busy deck--the porticoed palace--the strong fort--the bristling battery--the astonished fisher's bark as it sluggishly crept on--were all cheeringly swept by, as the bending oars in perfect unison, kissed the erst slumbering water. What sensation can be more glorious? The only thing to compete with it, is the being in a crack coach on the western road; the opposition slightly in front--a knowing whip driving--when the horses are at their utmost speed--the traces tight as traces can be--the ladies inside pale and screaming--one little child cramming out her head, her mouth stuffed with Banbury cakes, adding her shrill affetuoso--whilst the odd-looking man in the white hat, seated behind, is blue from terror, and with chattering teeth, mumbles undistinguishable sentences of furious driving and prosecution. Surely such moments half redeem our miseries! What bitter thought can travel twelve miles an hour?
And ever and anon would the Spitfire dart into some little creek, and the thirsty rowers would rest on their oars, whose light drip fell on purple ocean, tinged by a purple sky. And now would the jovial steersman introduce the accommodating corkscrew, first into one bottle and then into another, as these were successively emptied, and thrown overboard, to give the finny philosophers somewhat to speculate on.
Delmé landed weary; but it was a beneficial weariness. He felt he had taken manly exercise, and that it would do him good. He was walking towards the barrack, with his jacket slung over his shoulder, when he was met by George's servant.
"Oh, Sir!" said the man, "I am so glad you are come. The Signora is terribly afraid for my young master. I fear, Sir, he is in one of his fits."
Delmé hurried forward, and entered his brother's room. George held a riding whip in his hand. He had thrown off his cravat--his throat was bare--his eyes glanced wildly.
"And who are you, Sir?" said he, as Henry entered.
"What! not know me, dearest George?" replied his brother, in agony.
"I do not understand your insolence, Sir; but if you are a dun, go to my servant. Thompson," continued he, "give me my spurs! I shall ride."
"Ride!" said Delmé.
Thompson made him a quiet sign. "I am very sorry, Sir," said he, "but the Arab is quite lame, and is not fit for the saddle."