“My dear fellow!” said he, turning at once to his girths and stirrups after the first hearty squeeze, “what breeze of good fortune has blown you here? Any news from home?”
“Yes, all well, and a message—by the way, I had almost forgot it,” fumbling in my pocket, “for you.”
“Almost forgot it!” echoed Nicholas, looking round with a smile and a glance which was meant for one of withering rebuke.
“Here it is,” I exclaimed, handing him a three-cornered note, which had come in my mother’s letter. He seized it eagerly and thrust it into the breast-pocket of his coat.
“Now look here, Jeff,” he said, having seen to the trappings of his steed, “you know what war is. Great things are at stake. I may not delay even to chat with you. But a few words will suffice. Do you know anything about your servant Lancey?”
“Nothing. I would give anything to hear that the poor fellow was alive. Have you—”
“Yes, I have seen him. I chanced this very morning, while galloping across country with an order from the General, to see him among the camp-followers. Why there I know not. To search for him now would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but I observed that he was in company with our Bulgarian friend the scout Dobri Petroff, who is so well known that he can easily be found, and will probably be able to lead you to him. Now, only one word for myself: don’t forget a message to Bella—say—say—bah! You English are such an undemonstrative set that I don’t like to put it in words, but—you ought to know what to say, and when you’ve said it, just add, like a good fellow, that I would have said a great deal more if I had had the saying of it myself. D’you understand?”
“All right,” said I, with a laugh. “We English feel, although we don’t demonstrate much, and can act when occasion requires it with as much energy as Russians I’ll say all you could wish, and some things, mayhap, that you couldn’t have said yourself.—But where are you going in such haste?”
“To battle, Jeff,” he replied, with one of those proud glances of the eyes which must be somewhat akin to the expanded nostrils of the warhorse when he scents the battle from afar. “At least,” he added, “to convey orders which will have some bearing on what is about to follow. The Turk is brave. We find that he fights well.”
“Ha!” said I quickly, “you find him a plucky fellow, and begin to respect him?”