When I got to Suffolk four of the company met me.
“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Nell,” said the great fellows, sympathy and desire to cheer me blending in their eyes. “Dan will pull through all right.”
Then Jack Carrington took me aside and explained as gently and tenderly as if he had been my brother:
“It happened yesterday, Miss Nell, but we wouldn’t let you know because there was no way for you to get here then. We thought it wouldn’t be so hard on you if we waited and sent the telegram just before train time. Your uncle got one before you did, but we told him not to tell you till just before train time, and he wired us back to tell you ourselves, that he couldn’t tell you. Dan is getting all right now—he’ll soon get well, Miss Nell, indeed he will. But the doctor said I must warn you—Miss Nell, you must be brave, you see—or I can’t tell you at all. The doctor said I mustn’t let you go in there unless you were perfectly calm. The wound is nothing at all, Miss Nell.”
Poor Jack was almost as unnerved as I was. He mopped my face with a wet handkerchief, and made somebody bring me some brandy.
But the words ringing in my head, “A soldier’s wife,” pulled me together more than the brandy, and I made Jack go on.
“It’s nothing but his arm. We were out on vidette duty yesterday and we got shot into. You see, Miss Nell, you must be brave or I can’t tell you!”
I pulled myself together again and insisted that I was brave.
“You don’t look like it, Miss Nell. I declare you don’t.”
“But I am. See now.”