Sir Charles, “a credit to the service any how. His regret for your accident, Hepburn, was touching the other night!”
“Well, I suppose the young lady has been to work again,” observed the admiral; “for here’s his commission come out to-day.”
“She has had no hand in it this time, sir, at all events,” replied the captain.
“Eh! how do you know that?”
“Poor thing! she is ill—married and ill—deranged, I believe, brain fever, or something of the sort—at all events, quite out of the question,” said Captain Hepburn, gravely.
“Ah, indeed, poor thing! I did not know that! Well, you are quite determined to give up, and invalid, are you, Hepburn?”
“Quite, sir, thank you for your kindness and consideration. Thank you very much. You have been my friend, and you too, Sir Charles; and if, as you are pleased to say, you are satisfied with my conduct, all I ask is, be friends to Duncan, if in your power. It is, perhaps, the last professional favor I shall ask of any one.”
“Well, my dear fellow, I promise you,” said the admiral. “But, don’t be down-hearted; you will soon be well. Good-by.”
“Poor fellow!” said the admiral to the governor, as they left the hospital; “he’s booked for death as sure as fate. I am sorry for him; and if he is to die, he might as well have died within my command, and I could have given the vacancy to my nephew.”
“We’ll hope he may get home alive,” said Sir Charles; and so he did.