'By Jove, there is a postscript—turn the page, Roland!' exclaimed Jack Elliot, who had been noting the letter, as mutual stock, over his brother-in-law's shoulder.
'Since writing all the foregoing,' said the postscript, 'I find that your sister, Mrs. Elliot, appears to have had some news, after receiving which she and Miss Hester have suddenly left Edinburgh, but for where or with what intention I am totally unable to discover.'
'News,' muttered Roland; 'what news can they have had?'
Roland, by the field telegraph rearward, viâ, Cairo, wired a message to Mr. M'Wadsett for further intelligence, if he had any to give, concerning the absentees, but no answer came till long after the troops had got under arms to engage, and Roland was no longer there to receive it.
'By Heaven, this infernal coil at home is becoming more entangled!' exclaimed Jack. 'Were it not for my mother's sake I would hope to be knocked on the head to-day.'
'Not for poor little Maude's sake?' asked Roland reproachfully.
'God help us both!' sighed Jack.
'To every one who lives strength is given him to do his duty,' said Roland gravely. 'Do yours, Jack, and no more.'
'To me there seems a dash of sophistry in this advice now; but had you ever loved as I have done——'
'Had I ever loved! What do you mean?' asked Roland, almost impatiently. 'But there go the bugles, and we must each to his company.'