Only an Ensign: A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul, Volume 1 (of 3)Grant, James
General
Only an Ensign: A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul, Volume 1 (of 3)
Grant, James
Afghan Wars -- Fiction
He had mounted while speaking, and, lifting his hat with studious
politeness, cantered off, while Rajah went bounding and barking
before him.
"What a bright little fairy it is--and so clever with her pencil! who
the deuce can she be?" he was thinking, while Sybil, with a vague
sense of disappointment and doubt, looked after him, half fearing
that she had been too pointed in her hint that he should leave her;
and yet how were they to continue such meetings as strangers.
In her lonely life, at least latterly, since they had settled at
Porthellick, she had met but few persons, and with none so pleasing
as this young officer.
She hoped to meet him again on a more recognisable footing, for she
felt that though stolen interviews might be very sweet, they could
not be without some peril; and to the young girl's mind, it seemed
that the formation of the acquaintance--the whole adventure--was
quite like some of the episodes to be read of in novels; for a box
from "Mudie's," came regularly to Porthellick Villa, and perhaps, by
the laws of such literature, her strange friend might prove a peer of
the realm--a prince it might be, incog.; who could say?
Sybil lingered long by the lonely tarn, watching the white swans
floating among the broad-leaved water-lilies, thinking over all the
stranger had said, recalling the pleasantly modulated tones of his
voice and the expression of his dark blue eyes (if blue they were),
till the sound of hoofs on the distant highway drew her attention in
that direction, and with something perhaps of jealousy and pique, she
saw him gallop past with two ladies, both well mounted on bright bay
horses. They were the Trecarrels, dashing and handsome girls, and
the sound of their merry voices and ringing laughter came clearly
over the moor as they rode at a scamper towards Lanteglos, on the
roof of the old parish church of which the arms of the Trelawneys and
Trecarrels have been carved for centuries.
"And these girls have him with them always," thought she, as she
turned homeward. "What matter is it to me--the acquaintance of a
couple of days? why should the idea of him affect me so?"
After this day she sought the vicinity of the rock-pillar and the
tarn no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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