“Thank Heaven!” said the general, as he sank back upon his pillow.

“How are you, sir?”

“Very weak.  My fighting days are done.”

“You must not say that, sir; the doctors will soon pull you round.  Won’t you?” said McKay, looking round at the nearest surgeon’s face.

“Of course.  I have no fear, provided only the general will keep quiet, and—­”

“That means that I should go,” said the aide-de-camp.  “I shall be close at hand, sir, for I mean to be chief nurse,” and he left the tent.

Outside the surgeon ended the sentence he had left incomplete.

“The general,” he said, “will be in no immediate danger if we could count upon his having proper care.  With that, I think we could promise to save his life.”

“He shall have the most devoted attention from me,” began McKay.

“We know that.  But he wants more:  the very best hospital treatment, with all its comforts and appliances; and how can we possibly secure these here on this bleak plateau?”

Just then one of the general’s orderlies came in sight and approached McKay.

“A letter, sir, for the general, marked ‘Immediate.’”

“The general can attend to no correspondence.  You know he has been desperately wounded.”

“Yes, sir, but the messenger would not take that for an answer.”

“Who is he?”

“A seaman from Balaclava, belonging to some yacht that has just arrived.”

“Lord Lydstone’s perhaps.  That would indeed be fortunate,” went on McKay, turning to the doctor.  “It is the general’s cousin, you know; and on board the yacht—­if we could get him there?”

“That is not impossible, I think.  In fact, it would have to be done.”

“Well, on board the yacht he would get the careful nursing you speak of.  Is he well enough, do you think, to read this letter?”

“Under the circumstances, yes.  Give it me, and I will take it in to the general.”

A few minutes later McKay was again called in to the marquee.

“Oh, McKay, I wish you would be so good—­” began the wounded man.  “This letter, I mean, is from Mrs. Wilders; she has just arrived.”

“Here, in the Crimea, sir?”

“Yes, she has come up in Lord Lydstone’s yacht, and I want you to be so good as to go to her and break the news.”  He pointed sadly down the bed towards his shattered limb.

“Of course, sir, as soon as I can order out a fresh horse I will go to Balaclava.  Perhaps I had better stay on board for a time, and make arrangements to receive you; if Lord Lydstone will allow me, that is to say.”

“Lord Lydstone is not there.  Mrs. Wilders tells me she has come up alone, and in the very nick of time.  But now be off, McKay, and lose no time.  Be gentle with her:  it will be a great shock, I am afraid.”

The aide-de-camp galloped off on his errand, and finding a boat from the yacht waiting by the wharf in Balaclava harbour he put up his horse and went off to the Arcadia.  She was still lying outside.