Anchor's apeak." He then gave his orders in stentorian roars; the anchor was hove up, catted and fished; one sail went up after another, the Proserpine's head came round, and away she bore for England with a fair wind.
General Rolleston went slowly and heavily home, and often turned his head and looked wistfully at the ship putting out wing upon wing and carrying off his child like a tiny prey.
To change the comparison, it was only a tender vine detached from a great sturdy elm.

Yet the tree, thus relieved of its delicate encumbrance, felt bare; and a soft thing was gone, that, seeking protection, had bestowed warmth; had nestled and curled between the world's cold wind and that stalwart stem.
As soon as he got home he lighted a cigar and set to work to console himself by reflecting that it was but a temporary parting, since he had virtually resigned his post and was only waiting in Sydney till he should have handed his papers in order over to his successor and settled one or two private matters that could not take three months.
When he had smoked his cigar and reasoned away his sense of desolation, Nature put out her hand and took him by the breast and drew him gently upstairs to take a look at his beloved daughter's bedroom, by way of seeing the last of her.
The room had one window looking south and another west; the latter commanded a view of the sea.

General Rolleston looked down at the floor, littered with odds and ends--the dead leaves of dress that fall about a lady in the great process of packing--and then gazed through the window at the flying _Proserpine._ He sighed and lighted another cigar.

Before he had half finished it he stooped down and took up a little bow of ribbon that lay on the ground and put it quietly in his bosom.

In this act he was surprised by Sarah Wilson, who had come up to sweep all such waifs and strays into her own box.
"La, sir," said she, rather crossly, "why didn't you tell me, and I'd have tidied the room.