“Good-night, dear,” he said as he kissed her. “Affairs are not quite so flourishing with me as I would like; but we’ll trust in Providence, won’t we? Things are sure to take a turn.”
“Yes, dear father. Good-night: God bless you!”
Many of the wounded, both among our own people and the French prisoners on board the Ocean Pride, died and were buried as the ship sailed on; but the strength of Jack’s Highland constitution asserted itself, and he was at last pronounced by MʻHearty to be out of danger, very much to Tom Fairlie’s delight.
His wounds had been very grievous—a sabre-cut on the skull and a spent bullet that had injured his left arm.
When the ship reached Portsmouth and the country rang with the news of Sir Sidney’s bright little action, when the papers gave a list of the dead and wounded and extolled Jack’s bravery, and when private information from headquarters informed the general that his son would be gazetted post-captain, then the old Highlander’s cup of bliss seemed full.
“Look at that,” he cried, with the joy-tears in his eyes; “read that letter, Flora dear. My boy, my brave boy! I shall go right away to Portsmouth and meet him, and you shall come and nurse him. My brave, good lad! What care we for money, Flo? The Mackenzies have their swords!”
On the arrival of the Ocean Pride in port, Jack had been sent to shore quarters for a time, and Tom determined to share his rooms.
Jack was very cheerful, for he had almost forgotten his dream.
Now Mr. Keane had determined to play his cards as well as he knew how to. The baronet had become indisposed, but the astute lawyer had invited him down to his little place in the country, and he had taken Gerty home too.