mately 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."

"Why, Hyde! what extraordinary language is this? What do you know of
Mrs. Wilders? What can you mean?"

"Some day you shall hear everything, but not now. It is too long a
story. Besides, here we are at Balaclava. Do you know where your
uncle's ship lies?"

CHAPTER XX.

RED TAPE.

"What! back again so soon, Stanny," was Captain Faulks's greeting as
McKay stepped on board the _Burlington Castle_. "I am right glad to
see you. Is that a friend of yours?" pointing to Hyde. "He is welcome
too. What brings you to Balaclava?"

McKay explained in a few words the errand on which they had come.

"Drift-wood--is that what you're after? All right, my hearties, I can
help you to what you want. My crew is standing idle, and I will send
the second officer out with them in the boats. They can land it for
you, and load up your horses."

Before the afternoon Hyde started for the camp with a plentiful supply
of fuel, intending to return next morning to take up any other
supplies that could be secured. McKay tackled his uncle on this
subject that same evening.

"Blankets? Yes, my boy, you shall have all we can spare, and I daresay
we can fit you out with a few dozen jerseys, and perhaps some seamen's
boots."

"We want all the warm clothing we can get," said McKay. "The men are
being frozen to death."

"I tell you what: there were five cases of sheepskin-jackets I brought
up--_greggos_, I think they call them--what those Tartar chaps wear in
Bulgaria.'"

"The very thing! Let's have them, uncle."

"I wish you could, lad; but they are landed and gone into the store."

"The commissariat store? I'll go after them in the morning."

"It'll trouble you to get them. He is a hard nut, that commissariat
officer, as you'll see."

Mr. Dawber, the gentleman in question, was a middle-aged officer of
long standing, who had been brought up in the strictest notions of
professional routine. He had regulations on the brain. He was a slave
to red tape, and was prepared to die ra