She thought it a far fitter punishment to compel him to
keep his appointment with her, and make Sir Rowland wait, fretting and
fuming for the intelligence he longed for, and which L'Isle alone
could give him. She reveled in the idea of making L'Isle turn his back
on military duty to obey her behest:
"How she would make him fawn, and beg and seek,
And wait the season and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wit in bootless rhymes."
But then L'Isle was so punctilious on points of duty, and Major Conway
had been so confident that she could not detain him in Elvas, that she
begun to doubt it herself, and resolved to spare no pains to gain her
end. So she at once sat down and penned an artful note; then calling
for her fine footman, dispatched him with it to L'Isle's quarters,
after schooling him well that he was to give it to the colonel's own
man, with strict injunctions to put it in his master's hand on his
return--if possible--before his foot was out of the stirrup;
certainly, before he got any other letter awaiting him.
Meanwhile, L'Isle was zealously fulfilling his mission at Badajoz. He
had made such good speed the evening before, that though the sun had
set on him in Elvas, some lingering rays of twilight still fell on the
round Moorish tower of white marble, on either hand, as he entered the
bridge-gate of Badajoz.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394