This done, he hastily
re-entered the room to speak to Lady Mabel. But he was too late! The
bird had flown, and her old Scotch terrier was covering her retreat,
shutting the door of the next room behind her, and spitefully locking
it in L'Isle's face.
At sunrise, the next morning, L'Isle marched his regiment out of
Elvas. Setting his face sternly northward, he never once looked back
on the serried ranks which followed him, until the embattled heights
of La Lippe had hidden Elvas and its surroundings. Turning his back
upon the past, he strove to look but to the future; but at the very
moment of this resolve, memory cheated him, and he caught himself
repeating a line of Lady Mabel's song:
"All else forgotten, War is now my theme."
and the thrilling music of her intonation seemed to swell upon his
ear. He hastily exchanged his quotation for a greater poet's words:
"He that is truly dedicate to war,
Hath no self-love."
If it be possible to forget, he will have ample opportunity, amidst
the crash of armies and the crumbling of an empire, to erase from his
memory Elvas, and its "episode in winter quarters." From the heights
of Traz os Montes, Wellington was now to make an eagle's swoop upon
the north of Spain, and a lion's spring upon the herd, driven into the
basin of Vittoria.
Pages:
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462