"Gloriously!" replied the other. "But where are you wounded?"
"On the head,—by a blow from a musquet-butt, or shaft of a pike. I received it on the heights of Puebla."
"Ah, there was sharp work there, when the battle began this morning. So you belong to the fighting division—Sir Rowland's? You have wandered a long way from the heights."
"I was endeavouring to rejoin my regiment," replied Ronald, staggering up, and propping himself with his sword; "I was loath to be absent while I could lift a limb. But to whom am I indebted for my safety? You are both countrymen, I believe, by your voices."
"You are right," replied the officer who wounded Cifuentes. "This is Captain Ramsay, of the 18th Hussars,—Ramsay of the Dyke-neuk-heid, as we call him at home; and I am Lord Dalhousie. We are riding to join the seventh division."
"I was not aware to whom I had the honour of addressing myself," said Ronald. "I shall be obliged by your lordship informing me where my own regiment now is."
"The Gordon Highlanders, I presume?"
"Exactly, my lord,—in Stuart's, late Howard's brigade."
"A brave regiment, and my heart warmed at the sight of their tartans to-day. They are a long way from this, pursuing the French along the Pampeluna road, and are probably as far as Salvatierra by this time."
"Then I can never reach them to-night," said Stuart dejectedly.