A Love Story by A Bushman

"No offence! Sir; but I guess the wind is fair. If you want nothing ashore, we will off, Sir, _now_! if you please."

Delme acquiesced.

How disagreable is the act of leaving harbour in a merchant ship!

Even sailors dislike it, and growl between their teeth, like captive bears. The chains of the anchor clank gratingly on the ear. The very chorus of the seamen smacks of the land, and wants the rich and free tone that characterises it in mid-sea. Hoarse are the mandates of the boat-swain! his whistle painfully shrill! The captain walks the deck thoughtfully, and frowningly ruminates on his bill of lading--or on some over-charge in the dock duties--or, it may be, on his dispute on shore with a part owner of the vessel.

And anon, he shakes off these thoughts, and looks on the weather-side--then upwards at the the masts--and, as he notes the proceedings, his orders are delivered fiercely, and his passions seem ungovernable.

The vessel, too, seems to share the general feeling--is loath to leave the port.

She unsteadily answers the call of her canvas--her rigging creaks--and her strong sides groan--as she begins lazily and slowly to make her way.

Glad to turn their attention to anything rather than the scene around, George began conversing on the effect the attentions of his company and brother officers had had on him.

"Their kindness," said George, "was wholly unexpected by me, and I felt it very deeply. An hour before, I fancied that Acme and my own family monopolised every sympathy I possessed. But, thank God! the heart has many hidden channels through which kindness may steal, and infuse its genial balm."

"_I_ felt it, too, George!" said his brother, "and was anxious as to the effect the scene might have on you. I am glad it _was_ unexpected. We are sometimes better enabled to enact our parts improvising them, than when we have schooled ourselves, and braced all our energies to the one particular purpose.

"Acme, how did you like the way George's men behaved?"

"It made me weep with joy," replied the young Greek, "for I love all who love my Giorgio."

Chapter XVIII.

The Adieu.

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Malta! the snowy sail shivers in the wind--the waves, chafed by our intruding keel, are proudly foaming--sea birds soar, screaming their farewell aloft--as we wave our hand to thee for ever! What is our feeling, as we see thee diminish hourly?

Regret! unfeigned regret!

Albeit we speed to our native land, on the wing of a bark as fleet as ever--but it matters not--_thou_ hast seen the best of our days.

Visions conjured up by thee, have the unusual power, to banish anticipations of Almack's glories, and of home flirtations.