Something must have surely occurred to prevent his coming. Perhaps he cannot obtain leave of absence from his regiment. If this is the case, I can fancy what his state of mind must be just about the present time.
Four o'clock strikes. Once more I go to Amy's window. She is still there, and, being ready dressed for her departure, I feel almost inclined to propose an elopement on my own account, and so, provide a substitute for the Captain; but my mirth is checked as soon as I have seen her sad, sad features. She weeps outright this time—bursts into a silent agony of tears, that I can well understand. My heart is touched with pity, and I scribble on a piece of paper—"He may not be able to get leave of absence. He will probably come to-morrow night, and I will watch and meet him. Be of good cheer." I toss this up to her, and as the morning is breaking, there is sufficient light for her to read it She cheers up directly, and smiles and waves her hand to me. I signify to her that I shall continue on my watch till five o'clock, and then I go back to my mile-stone.
But, when the hour has passed, no Captain Alvanley has arrived; and I see that to prolong my vigil would be useless, for it is broad day now, and people are beginning to move about to their boats and their work; so, much to Trap's satisfaction, I turn my steps towards the hotel. Amy is still at her window. She thanks me as much as any one could thank me without speaking. She again reads my scrap of a note, and looks towards me with a cheerful face, as though she depended upon the fulfilment of my promise; and then she noiselessly lets down her window and blind. Having seen this, I quietly make use of my latch-key, and pass up-stairs to
