Barbara raised her head at last, and taking the Colonel's face between her hands, looked deep into his eyes, her own more beautiful through the mist of tears that filled them than he had ever seen them. "My darling!" she whispered.
He smiled wearily, but as fuller consciousness returned to him, his thoughts turned from her. "The battle? They were massing for an attack."
"It is over. The French have been overthrown: their whole Army is in full retreat."
A flush of colour came into his drawn face. "Boney's beat! Hurrah!"
She rose from her knees and moved away to measure out the medicine that the surgeon had left for him. When she came back to the bedside the Colonel was lying with his hand across his eyes, and his lips gripped tightly together. Her heart was wrung, but she said only: "Here is a horrid potion for you to swallow, dear love."
He did not answer, but when she slid her arm under him to raise him, he moved his hand from his eyes, and said in a carefully matter-of-fact voice: "I remember now. I've lost my arm."
"Yes, dear."
He drank the dose she was holding to his mouth, leaning against her shoulder. As she lowered him again on to the pillows, he said with an effort: "It's a lucky thing it was only my left. It has been a most unfortunate member. I was wounded in it once before."
"In that case, we will say good riddance to it. Oh, my love, my love, does it hurt you very much?"
"Oh no! Nothing to signify," he answered, lying gallantly.