India -- History -- Sepoy Rebellion, 1857-1858 -- Fiction
On the morning in question the Baronet, who had but the evening previous
returned from London, entered his study, and seating himself in an easy
chair, drew towards him a small but elaborately carved antique
escritoire, and for several moments was deeply engaged in the perusal of
certain papers and memoranda; finally he drew from his pocket a sealed
packet which, having opened carefully, he read over; then as if not
quite satisfied with the contents, allowed the paper to slip from his
hand to the table before him and was soon lost in thought. An English
gentleman, unquestionably in the highest sense of the word, was Sir
Jasper Coleman; a true type of that class who, from the time of the
Norman conquest to the present day, whether beneath the Torrid or Frigid
Zone's; on the bloody battlefield, or launching their thunders on the
billows of the white-crested main, nobly upheld the honor of their
country's flag, whose heroic deeds and honorable names have been handed
down unsullied and untarnished for many generations. Since leaving the
service the worthy Baronet had taken no part in the political events of
the nation, but devoted himself entirely to the welfare of his numerous
tenantry, and those residing in the neighborhood of his large estate, to
whom assistance and advice was at all times needed, nor was it ever
withheld or given grudgingly when any case of real distress came under
his notice.
A fine subject fog poet's pen or artist's pencil was that aristocratic
old warrior, as he sat there gazing upon the rich woodlands warmed by
the glorious autumn sun, thinking over by-gone days--days when he had
loitered by some fair one's side in many a brilliant assembly, or when
his nerves were steady and his voice all powerful, leading the charge on
many a well-fought field. How long he might have remained ruminating on
things of the past it is impossible to say; the retrospect might have
continued much longer had not his attention been arrested by a slight
noise, when suddenly raising his head a smile of pleasure lit up his
finely cut features as the door opened and a lovely girl, just merging
into womanhood, stepped softly into the room. She was, indeed, very
beautiful; hair of the darkest shade of brown hung in long and glossy
curls from her perfectly shaped head, and rested on the exquisite white
neck and shoulders, the contrast of which showed to a great degree the
almost alabaster whiteness of her skin; grecian nose, and eyes of the
deepest blue, whose long lashes, when veiled, rested lovingly on her
damask cheek, and when raised, revealed a depth and brilliancy which
does not often fall to the lot of mortals; a mouth not too small, whose
beautifully shaped lips, when parted, disclosed to the beholder teeth of
ivory whiteness, small and most evenly set, dazzling indeed was the
effect of those pearly treasures; tall, slight, and elegantly formed,
with a bearing aristocratic and queenly in the extreme; what wonder that
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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