“He had fever on him this morning, it seems. It was a foolish business his setting out to ride all day in that state, but nobly foolish. You must be proud of him.”
“’Twas my fault—I ought have seen it—begged him to remain behind. I noticed he was cr—unlike himself.”
“Sure if that was the way of it, he’d have gone all the more, the more you begged him,” said Brian, trying rather unsuccessfully to improve matters. She looked at him as though she had not heard him.
“It’s my fault, I tell you. And now he’s sick, and away from me. Sir Harry, you’ll let me——”
“I won’t let you go to seek him, ma’am, for he’s coming to you, as fast as a Medical Department palanquin can bring him. We are encamped on the battlefield, but the wounded must return hither, that the hospital establishment may follow the army. So your mind may be at rest as far as that’s concerned.”
“Y’are very good, Sir Harry. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see everything is ready for him.”
“Why, Evie, he’ll not be here for hours yet!” remonstrated Brian, but the General signed to him to be silent.
“Do, ma’am, do! Can’t make too much of our brave fellows, can we? I must be off too.”
“But not without some refreshment.” Her hospitable instincts prevailed even at this moment of desolation. “Brian, bid the servants bring some food for the General, will you not?”
“Only too thankful to avoid transporting my rheumatic old carcase across the compound again before it’s necessary,” said Sir Harry, when Brian had summoned the butler and given him orders. “I have bid Munshi get the office establishment on the march, for I must have ’em with me since I’m deprived of poor Ambrose.”