The sun had been shining for hours. Mrs. Rolleston did not disturb her, but the superstitious terror she had battled against the night before returned daring that long day, in an agony of impatience for news.
But no submarine telegraph then existing, nothing was heard for a time. Mrs. Rolleston might have shaken off the gruesome impression, but for the immovable conviction of Bertie's death that actuated Cecil. She assumed the deepest mourning, and passed whole hours alone with her grief, perfectly indifferent to the opinion of any one. Indeed, since his spiritual presence had, as she believed, appeared to her, he seemed nearer than before, when they were parted and unreconciled.
One day, late in the afternoon, Mrs. Rolleston was agitated by that weird sound to anxious ears, the shouting voices of men and boys hawking evening papers, and proclaiming startling news. She saw from the balcony her servant dart down the street for the gratification of his curiosity. He bought a paper, and perused it as he slowly returned. He got "quite a turn," as he afterwards described it, when his mistress, pale as a sheet, met him at the door, and, without a word, snatched the evening journal from his astonished hands.
No occasion to seek far. The sensational paragraph was in capital letters, and contained the intelligence of the battle of Balaklava, and famous charge of the six hundred, with its fearful losses. The cavalry regiments engaged were named. Among them was Bertie Du Meresq's, and mentioned as one that had suffered heavily. The returns of killed and wounded did not appear.
Mrs. Rolleston had a friend at the Horse Guards, and instantly despatched the servant there, with a letter requesting further particulars as early as possible. Ill news does not lag. A letter from General—soon arrived, with its warning black seal. Captain Du Meresq was among the casualties. He had been shot through the heart during the charge.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE.
Into a ward of the white-washed walls,
Where the dead and the dying lay,
Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls,
Somebody's darling was borne one day.
Song.