“The doctor, sir?”

“Can do nothing.  He has few drugs; but, as he says, that would hardly matter if the men could have warmth and nourishment.”

“Something might be done, sir, with system; the quartermaster—­”

“You are right.  Let us consult him.  Hyde is still acting, and he has already proved himself a shrewd, hard-headed old soldier.”

Quartermaster-sergeant Hyde—­for he had accepted the grade, although unwillingly—­came and stood “at attention” before his superiors.

“As to food, sir,” he said, “the men might be provided with hot coffee, and, I think, hot soup, on coming off duty.  I am only doubtful as to the sufficiency of fuel.”

“There is any quantity of drift-wood just now—­wreckage—­floating in Balaclava Harbour,” suggested McKay.

“We must have it sir, somehow,” said Hyde, eagerly.  “But can we get it up to the front?”

“We’ll lay an embargo on all the baggage-animals in camp.  Take the whole lot down to Balaclava, and lay hands on every scrap of timber.”

“As to clothing, sir, an uncle of mine has come up with a heavily-laden ship—­hutting-timbers mostly, but he may have some spare blankets, sailors’ pea-jackets, jerseys, and so forth.”

“And boots, long boots or short—­all kinds will be acceptable.  Get anything and everything that is warm.  I’ll pay out of my own pocket sooner than not have them.  When can you start, Hyde?”

“Now, sir, if that will suit Mr. McKay, and I can have the horses.”

The matter was speedily arranged, and in the early afternoon our hero and Hyde were jogging back to Balaclava, at the head of a string of animals led and ridden by a small selected fatigue-party of regimental batmen and grooms.

It was the first occasion on which the two friends had conversed freely together for months.

McKay had most to tell.  He spoke first of the offer to go on the headquarter-staff which he had refused.  Then of the strange accidents by which he had become heir presumptive to the earldom of Essendine.  Last of all, of the narrow escape he had of his life.

Hyde pressed him on this point.

“You fell overboard—­lost your balance, eh?  Entirely your own doing?  Mrs. Wilders did not help you at all?”

“How on earth, Hyde, did you guess that?  I never hinted at such a thing.”

“I know her—­do not look surprised—­I know her, and have done so intimately for years.  There is nothing she would stick at if she saw her advantage therefrom.  You were in her way; she sought to remove you, as, no doubt, she, or some one acting for her, had removed Lord Lydstone, and—­and—­for all I know, ever so many more.”

“Can she be such a fiendish wretch?”

“She is a demon, Stanislas McKay.  Beware how you cross her path.  But let her also take heed how she tries to injure you again.  She will have to do with me then.”