“Yes, Miss, we’ve all escaped, thank God, an’ we’re all here—’cept John Miles, in coorse, for he’s bin invalided home—”
“He’s no more invalided home than yourself, Jack,” said a seaman, who was enjoying his coffee at a neighbouring table; “leastwise I seed John Miles myself yesterday in hospital wi’ my own two eyes, as isn’t apt to deceive me.”
“Are ye sure o’ that, mate?” cried Molloy, turning in excitement to the man, and totally forgetting Marion.
“Mother, let us go out!” whispered the latter, leaning heavily on Mrs Drew’s arm.
They passed out to the verandah—scarcely observed, owing to the excitement of the quintet at the sailor’s news—and there she would have fallen down if she had not been caught in the arms of a soldier who was advancing towards the door.
“Mr Miles!” exclaimed Mrs Drew, as she looked up in amazement at the scarred and worn face.
“Ay, Mrs Drew, through God’s mercy I am here. But help me: I have not strength to carry her now.”
Marion had nearly fainted, and was led with the assistance of her mother to a retired part of the garden, and placed in an easy-chair. Seeing that the girl was recovering, the other ladies judiciously left them, and Miles explained to the mother, while she applied smelling-salts to Marion, that he had come on purpose to meet them, hoping and expecting that they would be attracted to the concert, like all the rest of the world, though he had scarcely looked for so peculiar a meeting!
“But how did you know we were here at all?” asked Mrs Drew in surprise.
“I saw you in the hospital,” replied Miles, with a peculiar look. “Your kind daughter gave me a rose!”