At the front—­it had been raining in torrents for hours—­the mud was thicker, blacker, and more tenacious.  Tents stood in pools of water; their occupants, harassed by trench duty, lay shivering within, half-starved and wet.

McKay made his way at once to the colonel and reported his return.

“Oh! so you’ve thought fit to come back,” said Colonel Blythe, rather grumpily.  Since war and sickness had decimated his battalion he looked upon every absentee, from whatever cause, right or wrong, as a recreant deserter.

“I was with my general, sir,” expostulated Stanislas.

“The general has no need of an aide-de-camp now. We want every man that can stand upright in his boots.  I have given up the command of the brigade myself so as to look the better after my men.”

McKay accepted the reproof without a murmur, and only said—­

“Well, sir, I am here now, and ready to do whatever I may be called upon.  I feel my first duty is to my own colonel and my own corps.”

“Do you mean that, young fellow?” said the colonel, thawing a little.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Because they want to inveigle you away—­on the staff.  Lord Raglan has sent to inquire for you.”

“I have no desire to go, sir,” said McKay, simply; although his face flushed red at the compliment implied by the Commander-in-Chief’s message.

“It seems he was pleased with the way you rallied those Frenchmen, and he has heard you are a good linguist, and he wants to put you on the staff.”

“I had much rather stay with the regiment, sir,” said McKay.

“Are you quite sure?  You must not stand in your own light.  This is a fine chance for you to get on in the service.”  The colonel’s voice had become very friendly.

“I know where my true duty lies, sir; I owe everything to you and to the regiment.  I should not hesitate to refuse an appointment on the general staff if it were offered me now.”  McKay did not add that his future prospects were now materially changed, and that it was no longer of supreme importance to him to rise in his profession.

“Give me your hand, my boy,” said Colonel Blythe, visibly touched at McKay’s disinterestedness.  “You are proving your gratitude in a way I shall never forget.  But let us talk business.  You know I want you as adjutant.”

“I shall be only too proud to act, sir.”

“I must have a good staff about me.  We are in great straits; the regiment will go from bad to worse.  There are barely 200 ‘duty’ men now, and it will soon be a mere skeleton, unless we can take good care of the rest.”

“Yes, sir,” said McKay, feeling constrained to say something.

“They are suffering—­we all are, but the men most of all—­from exposure, cold, want of proper clothing, and, above all, from want of proper food.  This is what I wish to remedy.  They are dying of dysentery, fever, cholera—­I don’t know what.”