how clearly Kirke's appearance was stamped on his recollection, as he rode up to the residency on the same evening, flushed yet cool, while the excited members of the garrison pressed round him to grasp his hand, — and his measured manner of speaking as he announced the sad news that Falkland had fallen — Falkland, whose death at the moment of relief had so dimmed the joy of victory. But although eager to speak with his old comrade, and still more to hear some news of his wife, Yorke abstained from seeking him out; Kirke probably still regarded him as an enemy, and certainly would not wish to be recognized. And Yorke started that evening with his companions for Alexandria with ample food for his thoughts during the rest of the voyage — old sensations of joy and pain aroused again which had been almost laid to rest.
CHAPTER XLIII.
If unalloyed happiness is ever realized by mortals, it is surely experienced by the Anglo-Indian who returns home in reasonably good health, just when England is clothed in the fresh garb of early summer, after an exile long enough to create the strong desire for revisiting his native land, but still young enough to be open to new impressions, and to be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. To Yorke, who had left England a boy, and whose experience of English society had been limited to such as could be furnished by a country parsonage, the first glimpse of London life which he got on arrival afforded unadulterated pleasure; the bustle and brilliancy of a fine London afternoon in the height of the season seemed perfectly delightful; and dining with some military fellow-passengers at the club to which he had been elected just before coming home, and joining them afterwards in a box at the opera, followed by a snug supper-party, he felt quite ashamed of himself as he went back to his hotel for feeling in such high spirits. But after giving a day to ordering the different articles, including a complete fit-out from the tailor, necessary for bringing the exile within the pale of civilization, he hurried down by the express to Wiltonbury, where lived his mother, and his only sister, married about six years before to the Reverend William Morgan; feeling as he drew near to his destination a mingled sensation of anxiety and excitement. The associations connected with his mother were all agreeable — although in the recollection of early life at the old parsonage near Wiltonbury his father occupied the chief place — and until of late they had maintained a fairly regular correspondence during his absence; but while his mother's letters were duly filled with all the gossip of Wiltonbury, whither she had moved on his father's death, about a set of people of whom he knew nothing, he had become sensible by degrees that the details of his life with which his own letters had been filled at first were not readily understood, and only created a simulated interest, and so gradually his letters had become briefer and more silent about himself, as well as more infrequent, and thus a sort of barrier of indifference had grown up between them, arising out of the want of common sympathies. But the yearning for home love and home life was strong within him. His mother and sister, at any rate, would think him worth loving in return; and when, as the train ran into the station, and he recognized his mother in the graceful, well-preserved lady standing on the platform, and stepping out of the carriage, was caught at once in her embrace, he felt for the moment an assuagement of the hunger for sympathy which had so long remained unsatisfied.
"My dearest son!" exclaimed Mrs. Yorke through her veil, clasping him in a gentle embrace; and then recovering herself quickly added, "but you must look after your luggage, my dearest Arthur, for the train will be off again in a moment; I lost a carpet-bag on this very platform only three years ago."
"Dearest Arthur!" said Mrs. Yorke with fervour, holding his hand in hers as, the baggage duly secured, they drove off in a fly; "and so I have really got my precious son home again! Oh, my dear boy! it has seemed sometimes as if I could hardly bear your absence; and then to think of all the dangers you have been exposed to! No words can describe what your mother has gone through in her anxiety about her son."
"It seems to have agreed very well with you, mother, notwithstanding," said her son, smiling; "I declare you look hardly a day older than when I went away."
"Ah, my dear Arthur, I see you are a flatterer, like the rest of your sex," said the lady, tapping him on the cheek; "have you come back to laugh at your poor old mother?" But Mrs. Yorke simpered as if evidently pleased at the compliment; and indeed it might have been difficult to believe that the handsome, still young-looking lady, whose tasteful half-mourning
