It was not a long walk to the waterside.  There she took a caique, or local boat, with two rowers in red fezzes, and was conveyed across the Bosphorus to the Asiatic side.

Landing at Scutari, Mrs. Wilders went straight to the great palace, which was now a hospital, and treading its long passages with the facility of one who had travelled the road before, she presently found herself in a spacious, lofty chamber filled with truckle-beds, and converted now into a hospital-ward.

“How is he?” she asked, going up at once to a sergeant who acted as superintendent and head nurse.

“Mr. Wilders, ma’am?” replied the sergeant, with a shake of the head.

“No improvement?”

“Far worse, ma’am, poor young chap!  He died this morning, soon after daylight.”

“And my lord—­was his brother present?”

“Lord Lydstone watched with him through the night, and was here by the bedside when he died.”

“Where is he now?  Lord Lydstone, I mean.”

“He went back on board his yacht, ma’am, I think.  He said he should like a little sleep.  But he is to be here again this afternoon, for the funeral.”

“So soon?”

“Oh, yes! ma’am.  It must take place at once, the doctors say.”

Mrs. Wilders left the hospital, hesitating greatly what she should do.  She would have liked to see and speak with Lydstone, but she had enough good feeling not to intrude by following him on board the yacht.

Then she resolved to attend the funeral too.  It would show her sympathy, and Lord Lydstone would be bound to notice her.

He did see her, and came up after the ceremony to shake her hand.

“I am so sorry for you,” she began.

“It is too terrible!” he exclaimed.  “Both in one day.”

He had heard of Balaclava, then.

“But I can’t talk about it to-day.  I will call on you to-morrow, if I may, in the morning.  I am going back to England almost at once.”

He came next day, and she received him in her little sitting-room at Misseri’s.

“You know how I feel for you,” she said, giving him both her hands, her fine eyes full of tears.  “They were such splendid young fellows, too.  It is so sad—­so very sad.”

“I am very grateful for your sympathy.  But we will not talk about them, please,” interrupted Lord Lydstone.

“You have my warmest and most affectionate sympathy.  Is there anything I can do to console you, to prove to you how deeply, how sincerely, I feel for you?”

Her voice faltered, and she seemed on the point of breaking down.

“What news have you of the general?” asked Lord Lydstone, rather abruptly, as though to change the conversation.

“Good enough.  He is all right,” said Mrs. Wilders, dismissing inquiry for her husband in these few brusque words.

“I can’t think of him just now,” she went on.  “It is you and your great sorrow that fill all my heart.  Oh, Lydstone! dear Lord Lydstone, the pity of it!”