rt, not to meet again.
Calvert's affairs were managed by the regimental agent, and he thought
little more of an old relative, who ceased to hold a place in his memory
when unassociated with crisp inclosures "payable at sight."

"I wonder what would come of it if I were to write to him; if I were to
put it to his humanity to rescue me from a climate where, after all, I
might die--scores of fellows die out there. At all events, I detest it.
I could say, 'My leave expires in October, if you would like to see
me once more before I quit England for ever, for I am going to a
pestilential spot--the home of the ague and jungle fever, and Heaven
knows what else--your sister's son--poor Sophy's child.' That ought to
touch him." And then he went on to think of all the tender and moving
things he could write, and to picture to himself the agitation of him
who read them; and thus speculating, and thus plotting, he swept his
light boat along till she came close in to shore, and he saw the little
villa peeping through the spray-like branches of a weeping ash that
stood beside it "Higher up," cried a voice, directing him. "Don't you
know the landing-place yet?" And, startled by a voice not altogether
strange to him, he looked round and saw the old lady of the Rhine
steamer, the same who had snubbed him at Coblentz, the terrible Miss
Grainger of the lost writing-case. It was some minutes before he
remembered that he was performing the part of boatman, and not appearing
in his own character. Resolved to take all the benefit of his incognito,
he lifted his hat in what he fancied to be the true Italian style, and
taking a basket in each hand, followed the old lady to the house.

"It is three days that we have been expecting you," said she, tartly, as
she walked briskly on, turning at times to point a sarcasm with a fierce
look. "You were punctual enough on Tuesday last, when you came for your
rent. You were to the very minute then, because it suited yourself. But
you are like all your countrymen--mean, selfish, and greedy. As to those
pears you brought last, I have struck them off the account. You may
bring others if you please, but I'll not pay for rotten fruit any more
than I will for three journeys to Como for nothing--do you hear me, Sir?
three journeys to look after my writing-desk, which I lost on the Rhine,
but which I know was forwarded here, though I can't get it. Is it worth
your while to answer? Oh, of course, your old excuse--y