"Roy is Ensign in my regiment. Didn't you know even that? Been with me through this Campaign. He and I were in the Reserve—under Moore!" —in a lower voice. "You have heard—?"
"No particulars. The fact of a battle at Coruña; and—Tell me all you can."
"You know that it was victory?"
"I know!" in a stirred deep tone. "Not from the papers. French papers never admit defeat. But—under him—how could it be otherwise?"
"It never was otherwise! Never once!"
Denham rested his face on both hands.
"Tell me all you know. We are cut off from everything here."
Jack's information was but partial. Before starting for France he had been kept by his wounds some time in the neighbourhood of Lugo, and thus a few details of that heroic death had filtered round to him. It was hard work for Jack to repeat them in a steady voice. Once Ivor raised his head, and the dumb white sorrow of his look all but overcame Jack's fortitude. Then Ivor returned to his former position, and Jack went on resolutely.
"That's about all," he said at length. "As much as I've heard yet .... He was his own grand self to the last! ... It was the death he would have chosen to die .... He always wished for it ... On the field, in the moment of victory! ... But the loss to us—to England! ... The best!—the noblest—!"
Jack could say no more. Silence followed.