In the meantime Captain Stewart was carried through the imposing portal of his new abode. As the stretcher was deposited with a slight jar upon the floor in the centre of a great hall, he opened his eyes and stared in wonder, first at the vaulted roof, then at the magnificent paintings on the walls, the stage at the far end of the hall, and last, but by no means least, at Lady Danby's beautiful face as she leaned over him to assist him. Her golden hair, her big blue eyes and flushed cheeks, and her graceful figure were too much even for a man half dead. He gave one more helpless glance at the stage, then his gaze returned to this vision, and, closing his eyes in a sort of drowsy ecstasy, murmured:
"Where's George Cohan and the chorus?"
"What does he say?" asked Lady Danby in surprise.
"He takes this for a theatre, and is asking where the chorus girls are," a sprightly nurse volunteered, with keen appreciation, and not a little amused at the shocked expression on Lady Danby's face.
"Dear me," she exclaimed, "it must be one of those dreadful Canadians!"
"I'm afraid he's not quite himself at present, your ladyship," the nurse protested, scarcely able to repress a smile.
Stewart opened his eyes once more and remarked coolly as Lady Danby hastened to another patient: "No—not quite all there—part shot away, excuse me." He then closed his eyes again and lay still until the orderlies removed him to his bed.
The Medical Officer came to examine him, and the nurse cut away the dressings from his side. He inspected the wound very carefully and finally said:
"Rifle bullet wound through the lower lobe of left lung. It might have been worse."
"How long do you think I have to live?" Stewart enquired, with some anxiety.