"The child of love, though born in bitterness,
And nurtured in convulsion."
For many days, George Delme lay on his couch unconscious and immoveable. If his eye looked calm, it was the tranquillity of apathetic ignorance, the fixedness of idiotcy. He spoke if he was addressed, but recognised no one, and his answers were not to the purpose. He took his food, and would then turn on his side, and close his eyes as if in sleep. In vain did Acme watch over him--in vain did her tears bedew his couch--in vain did Delme take his hand, and endeavour to draw his attention to passing objects.
George had never been so long without a lucid interval. The surgeon's voice grew less cheering every day, as he saw the little amendment in his patient, and remarked that the pulse was gradually sinking. Colonel Vavasour never allowed a day to elapse without visiting the invalid; and in the regiment, his illness excited great commiseration, and drew forth many expressions of kindness.
"Oh God! oh God!" said Delme, "he must not sink thus. Just as I am with him--just as--oh, poor Emily! what will she feel? Can nothing he done, Mr. Graham?"
"Nothing! Sir: we must now put our whole trust in an all-seeing Providence. My skill can neither foresee nor hasten the result."
One soft summer's evening, when the wind blew in the scent of flowers from the opposite gardens--and the ceaseless hum of the insects--those twilight revellers--sounded happily on the ear, Acme started from the couch as a thought crossed her.
"We have never tried music," said she, "I have been too unhappy to think of it."
Her tears fell fast on the guitar, as she tuned its strings. She sung a plaintive Greek air. It was the first George ever heard her sing, and was the favourite. He heard it, when watching; lover-like beneath her balcony during the first vernal days of their attachment. The song was gone through sadly, and without hope. George's face was from her, and she laid down the guitar, weary of life.
George gently turned his head. His eyes wore a subdued melancholy expression, bespeaking consciousness. Down his cheek one big drop was trickling.
"Acme!" said he, "dearest Acme!"
Delme, who had left the room, was recalled by the hysterical sobs of the poor girl, as she fell back on the chair, her hands clasped in joyful gratitude.
The surgeon, who had immediately been sent for, ordered that George should converse as little as possible.
What he did say was rational. What a solace was that to Henry and Acme! The invalid too appeared well aware of his previous illness, although he alluded to it but seldom. To those about him, his manner was femininely soft, as he whispered his thanks, and sense of their kindness.
Immediately after the horrible scene he had witnessed, Sir Henry's mind had been made up, as to the line of conduct he ought to pursue. The affectionate solicitude of the young Greek, during George's illness, gave him no reason to regret his determination.
"Now," said Mr. Graham, one day as George was rapidly recovering, "now, Sir Henry, I would recommend you to break all you have to say to George. For God's sake, let them be married; and although, mark me! I by no means assert that it will quite re-establish George's health, yet I think such a measure may effectually do so, and at all events will calm him for the present; which, after all, is the great object we have in view."
The same day, Delme went to his brother's bed-side. "George," said he, "let me take the present opportunity of Acme's absence, to tell you what I had only deferred till you were somewhat stronger. She is a good girl, George, a very good girl. I wish she had been English--it would have been better!--but this we cannot help. You must marry her, George! I will be a kind brother-in-law, and Emily shall love her for your sake."
The invalid sat up in his bed--his eyes swam in tears. He twice essayed to speak, ere he could express his gratitude.
"Thank you! a thousand times thank you! my kind brother! Even you cannot tell the weight of suffering, you have this day taken from my mind. My conduct towards Acme has been bowing me to the earth; and yet I feared your consent would never be obtained. I feared that coldness from you and Emily would have met her; and that I should have had but her smile to comfort me for the loss of what I so value. God bless you for this!"
Delme was much affected.
To complete his good work, he waited till Acme had returned from a visit she had just made to her relations; and taking her aside, told her his wishes, and detailed his late conversation with George.
"Never! never!" said the young Greek, "I am too happy as I am. I have heard you all make better lovers than husbands. I cannot be happier! No! no! I will never consent to it."
All remonstrances were fruitless--no arguments could affect her--no entreaties persuade.
Delme, quite perplexed at finding such a difficulty, where he had so little expected to find one,--pitying her simplicity, but admiring her disinterestedness,--went to George, and told him Acme's objections.
"I feared it," said his brother, "but perhaps I may induce her to think differently. Were I to take advantage of her unsophisticated feelings, and want of knowledge of the world, I should indeed be a villain."
Acme was sent for, and came weeping in--took Georg's hand--and gazed earnestly in his face as he addressed her.
"You must change your mind, dearest," said he. And he told her of the world's opinion--the contumely she might have to endure--the slights to which she would be subjected. Still she heeded not.
"Why mention these things?" said she. "Who would insult me, were you near? or if they did, should I regard them while you were kind?"
And her lover's words took a loftier tone; and he spoke of religion, and of the duties it imposes; of the feelings of his countrywomen; and the all-seeing eye of their God. Still the fond girl wept bitterly, but spoke not.
"My own Acme! consider my health too, dearest! Were you now to consent, I might never again be ill. It would be cruelty to me to refuse. Say you consent for my sake, sweet!"
"For your sake, then!" said Acme, as she twined her snowy arms round his neck, "for your sake, Giorgio, I do so! But oh! when I am yours for ever by that tie; when--if this be possible--our present raptures are less fervent--our mutual affections less devoted--do not, dearest George--do not, I implore you--treat me with coldness. It would break my heart, indeed it would."
They were married according to the rites of both the Protestant and Catholic Church. Few were present. George had been lifted to the sofa, and sat up during the ceremony; and although his features were pale and emaciated, they brightened with internal satisfaction, as he heard those words pronounced, which made his love a legitimate one. Acme was silent and thoughtful; and tears quenched the fire of her usually sparkling eye. George Delme's recovery from this date became more rapid.
He was able to resume his wonted exercise--his step faltered less--his eye became clearer. His convalescence was so decided, that the surgeon recommended his at once travelling, and for the present relinquishing the army.
"Perhaps the excessive heat may not be beneficial. I would, if possible, get him to Switzerland for the summer months. I will enquire what outward-bound vessels there are. If there is one for Leghorn, so much the better. But the sooner he tries change of scene, the more advantageous it is likely to be; and after all, the climate is but a secondary consideration."
An American vessel bound to Palermo, happened to be the only one in the harbour, whose destination would serve their purpose; and determined not to postpone George's removal, Sir Henry at once engaged its cabin. Colonel Vavasour obtained George leave for the present, and promised to arrange as to his exchanging from full pay. He likewise enabled him, which George felt as a great boon, to take his old and attached servant with him; with the promise that he would use all his interest to have the man's discharge forwarded him, before the expiration of his leave.
"He may be useful to you, my dear boy, if you get ill again, which God forbid! He is an old soldier, and a good man--well deserving the indulgence. And remember! if you should be better, and feel a returning penchant for the red coat, write to me--we will do our best to work an exchange for you."
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