e?"

"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.

McKay's appearance was not exactly presentable. He had been turned out
at daybreak with the rest of the division at the first alarm, and had
had no time to attend to his toilette, such as it was in these rough
campaigning days. Since then he had been in his saddle for several
hours and constantly in the heat and turmoil of the fight. His clothes
were torn, mud-encrusted, and bloodstained; his face was black and
grimy with gunpowder smoke.

But he had no thought of his looks as he sprang on to the white,
trimly-kept deck of the yacht.

Captain Trejago met him.

"Who are you?" asked the sailing-master, rather abruptly.

"I wish to see Mrs. Wilders," replied McKay, still more curtly.

"You had better wash your face first," said Captain Trejago, very
jealous of the proper respect due to Mrs. Wilders. "It is uncommonly
dirty."

"And so would yours be if you had been doing what I have."

"What might that be?"

"Fighting."

"Perhaps you are ready to begin again? If so, I'm your man. But you
will have to wait till we get on shore."

"Pshaw! don't be an idiot. We have been engaged with the Russians ever
since daybr