Scoutbush was silent awhile.

“Well; I’m afraid of nothing, I hope:  only I wish one could meet this cholera face to face, as one will those Russians, with a good sword in one’s hand, and a good horse between one’s knees; and have a chance of giving him what he brings, instead of being kicked off by the cowardly Rockite, no one knows how; and not even from behind a turf dyke, but out of the very clouds.”

“So we all say, in every battle, Scoutbush.  Who ever sees the man who sent the bullet through him?  And yet we fight on.  Do you not think the greatest terror, the only real terror, in any battle, is the chance shot? which come from no one knows where, and hit no man can guess whom?  If you go to the Crimea, as you will, you will feel what I felt at the Cape, and Cabul, and the Punjab, twenty times,—­the fear of dying like a dog, one knew not how.”

“And yet I’ll fight, Campbell!”

“Of course you will, and take your chance.  Do so now!”

“By Jove, Campbell—­I always say it—­you’re the most sensible man I ever met; and, by Jove, the doctor comes the next.  My sister shall have the yacht, and I’ll go up to Penalva.”

“You will do two good deeds at once, then,” said the Major.  “You will do what is right, and you will give heart to many a poor wretch here.  Believe me, Scoutbush, you will never repent of this.”

“By Jove, it always does one good to hear you talk in that way, Campbell!  One feels—­I don’t know—­so much of a man when one is with you; not that I shan’t take uncommonly good care of myself, old fellow; that is but fair:  but as for running away, as I said, why—­why—­why I can’t, and so I won’t!”

“By the by,” said the Major, “there is one thing which I have forgotten, and which they will never recollect.  Is the yacht victualled—­with fresh meat and green stuff, I mean?”

“Whew—­w—­”

“I will go back, borrow a lantern, and forage in the garden, like an old campaigner.  I have cut a salad with my sword before now.”

“And made it in your helmet, with macassar sauce?” And the two went their ways.

Meanwhile, before they had left the room, a notable conversation had been going on between Valencia and Headley.

Headley had re-entered the room so much paler than he went out, that everybody noticed his altered looks.  Valencia chose to attribute them to fear.

“So!  Are you returned from the sick man already, Mr. Headley?” asked she, in a marked tone.

“I have been forbidden by the doctor to go near him at present, Miss St. Just,” said he quietly, but in a sort of under-voice, which hinted that he wished her to ask no more questions.  A shade passed over her forehead, and she began chatting rather noisily to the rest of the party, till Elsley, her brother, and Campbell went out.