Cameron heard his strange story in silent amazement.
'Can all this not be explained?' he asked.
'I want no explanation; I have been degraded enough,' replied Allan, bitterly.
Cameron, strangely enough, had never, as yet, even to his early friend and comrade, made any reference to what the latter fully knew—his love for Eveline: and never once had her name escaped him during the long voyage in the Nepaul from Woolwich to Ismailia, nor even on the march towards the enemy.
Poor Cameron had thought, what was the use of speaking of that matter now, when all was hopeless—all over, and for ever, between them? But now, encouraged or melted by Allan Graham's new confidence in himself, he said,
'With reference to the risks we run tomorrow, I am glad that I set my house in order, did so, indeed, before we marched from Edinburgh.'
'How?'
'About Stratherroch, or what remains of it.'
'In what way, Evan?'
We must all die sooner or later—a soldier sooner, perhaps, than a civilian; so by will, if aught happens to me—I have left the old place—tower and hill, wood, glen, and water, to—to Eveline—I mean to Lady Paget.'