“It was a lucky thing for that aide-de-camp of Filangieri who accompanied me here, that your friend Rory had n't got two legs, for he wanted to brain him with his crutch. Both of you had an antipathy to him, and indeed I own to concurring in the sentiment. My godfather you called him!” said he, laughing.
“I wish he had come a little closer to my bedside, that's all,” muttered Tony; and Skeff saw by the expression of his features that he was once more unfortunate in his attempt to hit upon an unexciting theme.
“Alice knew of your journey here, I think you said?” whispered Tony, faintly.
“Yes. I sent them a few lines to say I was setting out to find you.”
“How soon could I get to Naples? Do you think they would let me move to-morrow?”
“I have asked that question already. The doctor says in a week; and I must hasten away to-night,—there's no saying what confusion my absence will occasion. I mean to be back here by Thursday to fetch you.”
“Good fellow! Remember, though,” added he, after a moment, “we must take Rory. I can't leave Rory here.”
Skeff looked gravely.
“He carried me when I was wounded out of the fire at Melazzo, and I am not going to desert him now.”
“Strange situation for her Majesty's Chargé d'Affaires,” said Skeff,—“giving protection to the wounded of the rebel army.”