“Ah! mon Dieu! who knows? There is enough mischief here to kill half a squadron; but some fellows get through anything. If we had him in a quiet chamber of the Faubourg, with a good nurse, and all still and tranquil about him, there 's no saying; but here, with some seven hundred others,—many as bad, some worse than himself,—the chances are greatly against him. Come, however, we'll do our best for him.” So saying, he proceeded to pass ligatures on some bleeding arteries; and although speaking rapidly all the while, his motions were even still more quick and hurried. “How old is he?” asked the surgeon, suddenly, as he gazed attentively at the youth.
“I can't tell you,” said Darcy. “He belonged to my own corps, and by the lace on his jacket, I see, must have been a Volunteer; but I shame to say I don't remember even his name.” “He knows you, then,” replied the doctor, who, with the shrewd perception of his craft, watched the working of the sick man's features. “Is't not so?” said he, stooping down and speaking with marked distinctness. “You know your colonel?”
A gesture, too faint to be called a nod of the head, and a slight motion of the eyebrows, seemed to assent to this question; and Darcy, whose laboring faculties struggled to bring up some clew to the memory of a face he was convinced he had known before, was about to speak again, when a mounted orderly, with a led horse beside him, rode up to the spot, and looking round for a few seconds, as if in search of some one, said,—
“The English colonel, I believe?” The Knight nodded. “You are to mount this horse, sir,” continued the orderly, “and proceed to the head-quarters at once.”
The doctor whispered a few hasty sentences, and while promising to bestow his greatest care upon the sick man, assured Darcy that at the head-quarters he would soon obtain admission of the wounded Volunteer into the officers' hospital. Partly comforted by this, and partly yielding to what he knew was the inevitable course of fortune, the Knight took a farewell look of his follower, and mounted the horse provided for him.
Darcy was too much engrossed by the interest of the wounded soldier's case to think much on what might await himself; nor did he notice for some time that they had left the high-road by which the troops were marching for a narrower causeway, leading, as it seemed, not into, but at one side of Alexandria. It mattered so little to him, however, which way they followed, that he paid no further attention, nor was he aware of their progress, till they entered a little mud-built village, which swarmed with dogs, and miserable-looking half-clothed Arabs.
“How do they call this village?” said the Knight, speaking now for the first time to his guide.
“El Etscher,” replied the soldier; “and here we halt” At the same moment he dismounted at the door of a low, mean-looking house; and having ushered Darcy into a small room dimly lighted by a lamp, departed.
The Knight listened to the sharp tramp of the horses' feet as they moved away; and when they had gone beyond hearing, the silence that followed fell heavily and drearily on his spirits. After sitting for some time in expectation of seeing some one sent after him, he arose and went to the door, but there now stood a sentry posted. He returned at once within the room, and partly overcome by fatigue, and partly from the confusion of his own harassed thoughts, he leaned his head on the table and slept soundly.
“Pardon, Monsieur le colonel,” said a voice at his ear, as, some hours later in the night, he was awakened from his slumbers. “You will be pleased to follow me.” Darcy looked up and beheld a young officer, who stood respectfully before him; and though for a second or so he could not remember where he was, the memory soon came back, and without a word he followed his conductor.