Barren Honour: A NovelLawrence, George A. (George Alfred)
General
Barren Honour: A Novel
Lawrence, George A. (George Alfred)
Fiction
"Thank you so very much, dear Alan," she whispered, "you have behaved
perfectly throughout, just as I expected you would" (she spoke the
truth, there). "You will promise me, then, that the day of your marriage
shall not be actually fixed till the year has past? You know your uncle
is rather impetuous, and not very prudent; I should not wonder if he
were to try to precipitate matters, and that would involve discussions.
Now I never could bear discussions, even when my nerves were stronger
than they are; I think they grow worse every day. If _you_ promise, I
shall have nothing of this sort to fear. You will not refuse me this,
because it looks like a selfish request?"
I have the pleasure of knowing very slightly a Companion of the Order of
Valour, who carried the colours of his regiment at the Alma--it was his
"baptism of fire." At the most critical moment of the day, when the
troops were struggling desperately up "the terrible hill side," somewhat
disordered by the vineyards and broken ground; when the Guards were
reeling and staggering under the deadly hail that beat right in their
faces; the man I speak of turned to the comrade nearest to him and
remarked:
"Do you suppose they _always_ shoot as fast as this, Charley? I dare say
it's the correct thing, though."
They say his manner was as listless and unconcerned as usual, with just
a shade of diffidence and doubt, as if he had been consulting a
diplomatic friend on some point of etiquette at a foreign court. I have
the happiness of knowing very well an officer in the sister service who
has received a medal scarcely less glorious, for rescuing a sailor from
drowning in the Indian Sea. They had had a continuance of bad weather,
and worse was coming up all round; great lead-coloured billows weltered
and heaved under the lee--foam-wreaths breaking here and there, to show
where the strong ship had cloven a path through the sullen surges; there
was the chance, too, of encountering one of two sharks which had been
haunting them for days; but I have heard that on Cis Hazelwood's face
when he went over the bulwarks, there was the same expression of cheery
confidence as it might have worn when he was diving for eggs at The
Weirs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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