Poor little Lily! She hoped all that was so bad in him
would one day mend. He was a hero still--and, oh! she hoped, would be
true to her. So Lily's love, she scarce knew how, lived on this
hope--the wildest of all wild hopes--waiting on the reformation of a
rake.
'But, darling Miss Lily, don't you know the poor master would break his
heart if he thought you could do such a wild thing as to go out again
'the doctors' orders, at this time o' night, and into that hot place,
and out again among the cold draughts.'
Little Lily paused.
''Tis only a step, Sally; do you honestly think it would vex him?'
'Vex him, darling? no, but break his heart. Why, he's never done asking
about you, and--oh! its only joking you are, my darling, that's all.'
'No, Sally, dear love, I meant it,' said little Lily, sadly; 'but I
suppose it was a wild thought, and I'm better at home.'
And she played a march that had somehow a dash of the pathetic in it, in
a sort of reverie, and she said:
'Sally, do you know that?'
And Sally's gentle face grew reflective, and she said:
'Sure, Miss Lily, that's the tune--isn't it--the Artillery plays when
they march out to the park?'
Lily nodded and smiled, and the tune moved on, conjuring up its pictured
reverie.
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