The first portion of the letter is taken up with inquiries for all at home, and a brief explanation of his having been ordered to the Soudan some little time back. There, greatly to his surprise, he had come across Hugh Horton, the two from that time being thrown much together. Then comes the description of a small skirmish with the Arabs one day when they were both out together, in which Hugh was badly wounded in nobly going to the rescue of one of his own men.
Having been cut off somehow from the rest of the party, this man suddenly found himself face to face with three Arabs, who, promptly attacking him, would soon have made short work of the matter, had not Hugh, seeing the state of affairs from a distance, galloped up to his assistance. Even then the two had a hard fight for it, and it is doubtful whether either would have lived to tell the tale had not others of the party ridden up to their rescue; for while the Arabs at the sight of them took instant refuge in flight, Hugh at the same moment rolled forward in his saddle and fell heavily to the ground, close to where Private Williams had fallen a few seconds previously.
Altogether the letter is a long one, but a little further on—after describing the dangerous state in which Hugh (now Captain Horton) had lain for weeks, the surgeon having in fact given up all hope of his recovery—there are some words which Molly is never tired of reading.
"I nursed him through it all myself," the colonel goes on, "with the assistance of his own servant, and altogether, when not raving in delirium, he was as patient as a man with a broken arm, a deep sabre gash across his forehead, and quite a nice little collection of bullets in his body altogether, could be expected to be, I think. Through all his delirium, and even when quietly sleeping sometimes, the name of 'Molly Bawn' was constantly on his lips. I mention this in case you should happen to know anything of the young lady in question! Well, a truce to joking. I am sending poor Horton home to you all a complete wreck of his former self. Take care of him, and be kind to him, Molly. He needs it sadly. I think you may expect him almost any time after you receive this letter, for I want to start him off the moment I can."
A few more words and the letter ends. Not so the motion of the swing. For Molly still sits, reading a little bit here and there over again, until the tears slowly gather in her eyes, and fall one by one with a little splash on to the paper in her lap.
"Dear Hugh!" she says softly to herself, "I hope he will come soon."
The words are hardly spoken when her heart tightens, and for a second or two almost ceases to beat. For hark! A tenor voice somewhere in the neighbourhood of the road is singing, or to speak more correctly, humming, the first verse of "Molly Bawn."
Molly arrests the motion of the swing and listens; her heart now beating to suffocation almost, while a flush rises to her fair young face. It dies away again suddenly, however, for in another instant a tall figure stands beside her with pale haggard face, on which the dark and now sweeping moustache looks fiercer than ever.
There is the same soft light in the eyes as of old though, as Hugh, with a little smothered cry of "Molly, darling!" throws his one available arm round the startled girl, just in time to prevent her from falling.
"Hugh!" she cries. And in those three words all is said, all told; and the next moment Molly is leaning her head upon his shoulder, shedding tears of thankfulness for his safe return.