Her love, and the feelings it engendered, were of that confiding nature, that she could have followed George anywhere, and been happy still. As it was, her lot seemed cast "in pleasant places," and no foreboding of evil, except indeed for George, ever marred the waking dreams of Acmé. Her simple heart had already learnt, to look up with respect and affection to Sir Henry, and yearned with fond longing for the period when she should return a sister's love. She had that lively talent too, which, miniatured as it was, allowed of her fully appreciating the superiority of the English she had lately met, to the general run of those with whom she had hitherto associated. An English home had none but charms for her. "Come Acmé," said George, as he assisted her in adjusting the first bonnet that had ever confined her wavy curls, "wish good bye to your ring-dove, dear! Mrs. Graham will take good care of it; and Thompson has just finished the packing." The boat which was to convey them to the vessel was so near, that they had agreed to walk down to the place of embarkation. As George left the room, a tall figure presented itself on the staircase. "Ah, Clark!" said George, "my good fellow! I am very sorry to part with you. I do not know what I shall do without my pay serjeant!" and he held out his hand. It was grasped gratefully. "Thank you, your honour!" The old soldier stood erect, and put his hand to his cap. "God bless you! Mr. Delmé. I have served under many officers, but never under a kinder. May the Almighty bless you, Sir, in all your wanderings." The soldier turned away--one large drop burst o'er the lid, and trickled down his sun-burnt cheek. With the back of his hand, he brushed it off indignantly. His converse may be rough--his manner rude--his hand ever ready for quarrel;--but, believe us! ye who deem the soldier beneath his fellow-men,--that the life of change--of chance--of hardship--and of danger--which is his, freezes not the kindlier emotions of the soul, if it sweep away its sicklier refinements. Beneath the red vest, beat hearts as warm and true, as ever throbbed beneath operative apron, or swelled under softest robe of ermine. George was moved by the man's evidently sincere grief. He reached the bottom of the stairs. The company to which he belonged was drawn up in the court yard. In front of it, the four tallest men supported a chair, and almost before George Delmé was aware of their purpose, bore him to it, and lifted him on their shoulders, amidst the huzzas of their comrades. The band, too, which had voluntarily attended, now struck up the march which George delighted to hear; and, followed by his company, he was carried triumphantly towards the mole. George's heart was full. Sir Henry felt deeply interested in the scene; and poor Acmé leant on his arm, and wept with joy.