“There it is again,” said Bella, taking a light. “I 'll go and see who's there.”
“No, let me go,” cried Kellett, taking the candle from her hand, and leaving the room with the firm step of a man about to confront a danger.
“Captain Kellett lives here, does n't he?” said a tall young fellow, in the dress of a soldier in the Rifles.
Kellett's heart sank heavily within him as he muttered a faint “Yes.”
“I'm the bearer of a letter for him,” said the soldier, “from his son.”
“From Jack!” burst out Kellett, unable to restrain himself. “How is he? Is he well?”
“He's all right now; he was invalided after that explosion in the trenches, but he's all right again. We all suffered more or less on that night;” and his eyes turned half inadvertently towards one side, where Kellett now saw that an empty coat-sleeve was hanging.
“It was there you left your arm, then, poor fellow,” said Kellett, taking him kindly by the hand. “Come in and sit down; I'm Captain Kellett. A fellow-soldier of Jack's, Bella,” said Kellett, as he introduced him to his daughter; and the young man bowed with all the ease of perfect good-breeding.
“You left my brother well, I hope?” said Bella, whose womanly tact saw at once that she was addressing her equal.
“So well that he must be back to his duty ere this. This letter is from him; but as he had not many minutes to write, he made me promise to come and tell you myself all about him. Not that I needed his telling me, for I owe my life to your son, Captain Kellett; he carried me in on his back under the sweeping fire of a Russian battery; two rifle bullets pierced his chako as he was doing it; he must have been riddled with shot if the Russians had not stopped their fire.”