Jove! you are a fine chap, Stanny. Why, you'll die a general
yet, if the Russians 'll let you off a little longer, and you're not
wanted for the House of Peers."

"What do you mean, uncle?"

"Why, of course, you haven't heard. There's trouble among your fine
relations. Lord Essendine has lost all his sons."

"All?"

"Yes; all. Hugo was killed, as you know; Anastasius died at Scutari;
and Lord Lydstone, two days later, was found dead in the streets of
Stamboul."

"Dead? How? What did he die of, uncle?"

"A stab in the heart. He was murdered."

"And I--"

He understood now the cause of the foul blow struck at him, and the
base attempt to get him also out of the way.

"You are now next heir to the peerage, in spite of all they may say.
But you'll find my lord civil enough soon. He'll be wanting you to go
straight home."

"And leave the army? Not while there's fighting to be done, Uncle
Barto. I may not be much good as I am, but I'll do all I can, trust
me. I ought to be getting on shore and back to the front."

"My doctor will have a word to say to that. He won't let you be moved
till you're well and strong."

But on the second day McKay, thanks to kindly care and plenty of
nourishment, was able to leave his cot, and on the third morning he
was determined to return to his duty.

"I won't baulk you, Stanny," said his uncle; "good soldiers, like good
sailors, never turn their backs on their work. But mind, this ship is
your home whenever and wherever you like to come on board; and if you
want anything you have only to ask for it, d'ye hear?"

McKay promised readily to draw upon his uncle when needful, and then,
his horse being still at Balaclava, he once more got into the saddle
and rode up to camp.

The journey prepared him a little for what he found. All the way from
Balaclava his horse struggled knee-deep in mud: a very quagmire of
black, sticky slush. Yet this was the great highway--the only road
between the base of supply and an army engaged eight miles distant in
an arduous siege. Along it the whole of the food, ammunition, and
material had to be carried on pony-back, or in a few ponderous carts
drawn by gaunt, over-worked teams, which too often left their wheels
fast-caught in the mire.

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-star