‘What’s up?’ he exclaimed in astonishment.

‘How do you do, Macgregor?’ she said formally yet timidly.

‘Fine, thenk ye,’ he answered from sheer force of habit.  Then—­’Ye’ve come a lang road to see me,’ he said, gratitude asserting itself.

‘It is a conseederable distance,’ she returned, with some recovery of her old manner.  ’Your uncle said I must go the moment he heard where you were, and I quite homologated him.  We was all copiously relieved to hear of the non-seriosity of your wounds.  I have letters for you from your parents and sister, forbye your brother James.  Your mother was anxious to come, too, but decided to wait for my report, your condeetion not being grave.  All well at home and proud of you, but I was en rout before I heard the most gratifying news.’  She cleared her throat with an important cough, and Macgregor hoped none of the other chaps in the ward were listening.  ‘I am exceedingly proud of you, Macgregor!’

‘Me?  What for?’

’Ah, do not distimulate, my boy; do not be too modest.  You have saved a comrade’s life!  It was magneeficent!’

‘Eh?’

’Oh, I know all about it—­how you protected your friend William with your wounded body——­’

Macgregor’s hand went to his head.  ‘I suppose I’m sober,’ he muttered.  ‘Wha was stuffin’ ye wi’ a’ this, Aunt Purdie?’

Aunt Purdie’s manner was almost sprightly as she whispered—­

‘Your betrothed!’

‘Ma what?’

‘Christina, her own self, told me.  So there you are, young man!’

Macgregor’s head wagged feebly on the pillow.  ’There’s a bonny mix-up somewhaur,’ he said; ‘it was Wullie saved ma life.’  Then, with an effort—­’When did ye see her?’

’Now understand, Macgregor, there must be no excitement.  You must keep calm.  I am doing my best to break it gently.  H’m, h’m!  As a matter of fac’, I seen—­saw—­your fiancy about ten minutes ago.’  She is without!’

‘Wi’oot what?’

‘She is in an adjacent apartment.’

‘Here?’

‘I am going to despatch her to you now,’ said Aunt Purdie, enjoying herself thoroughly.  ‘But mind!—­no deleterious excitement!’ She rose with a look on her gaunt face which he had never seen before.

‘Aunt Purdie,’ he whispered, ‘did she want to come?’

’My dear nephew, without exaggeration I may say that she fairly jamp—­jumped—­at my invitation I Well, I’ll see you subsequently.’

‘God bless ye,’ he murmured, and closed his eyes till he felt she had gone from the ward.

He knew when Christina came in, but did not look directly at her till she was beside him.  By that time she had controlled the quiver at her mouth.  And when he looked he realized that he had no defence whatsoever in the Maggie affair.  Nothing was left him but love and regret.

She touched his hand and seated herself.  ‘I couldna help comin’,’ she said, smiling.  ‘Are ye feelin’ better?’