The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood

"News! Of what?"

"Another battle, a fierce, terrible fight, in which, thank Heaven! the English have suffered defeat!" He spoke with an exultation that proved him to be a traitor, or no Englishman.

"A battle? The English defeated?"

"Yes; thank Heaven, beaten, massacred, disastrously defeated! It is only the beginning of the end. We shall hear soon of far worse. The Czar is gathering together all his strength; what can the puny forces of the allies do against him? They will be outnumbered thousands to one—annihilated before they can escape to their ships."

"Pshaw! What do I care! Whether they are driven away from the Crimea, or remain, is much the same to me. But, after all, this is mere talk; you can't terrify me by such vapourings."

"I tell you I know this for a fact. The Russian forces in the Crimea have been continually reinforced for weeks past. I know it; I saw them. I was there, in their midst, not many days ago. Besides, I am behind the scenes, deep in their counsels. Rely upon it, the allies are in imminent danger. You will hear soon of another and far greater fight, after which it will be all over with your friends!"

"Well, well! my friends, as you call them, must look to themselves. Still, this is mere talk of what may be. Tell me what has actually occurred. There has been a battle: are many slain? General Wilders—is he safe?"

"You need have no apprehensions for your dear husband, madam; his command was not engaged. The chief brunt of the fight fell upon the cavalry, who were cut to pieces."

"What of young Wilders? Hugo Wilders, I mean—Lord Lydstone's brother."

"His name is returned amongst the killed. It will be a blow for the noble house of Essendine, and not the only one."

"What do you mean?"

"The other brother, young Anastasius, whom you are going to see, cannot survive, I hear."

"Poor young fellows!" said Mrs. Wilders, with a well-assumed show of feeling.

"You pity them? I honour your sentiments, madam; but, nevertheless, they can be spared, especially by you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, quickly.

"I mean that after they are gone only one obstacle intervenes between you and all the Essendine wealth. If Lord Lydstone were out of the way, the title and its possession would come, perhaps, to your husband, certainly to your son."

"Silence! Do not put thoughts into my head. You must be the very fiend, I think."

"I know you, Cyprienne, and every move of your mind. We are such old friends, you see," he said, with a sneering, cynical smile. "And now, as before, I offer you my help."

"Devil! Do not tempt me!"

He laughed—a cold, cruel, truculent laugh.

"I know you, I repeat, and am ready to serve you as before. Come, or send, if you want me. I am living here in this hotel; Mr. Hobson they call me—Mr. Joseph Hobson, of London. My number is 73. Shall I hear from you?"

"No, no! I will not listen to you. Let me go!" And Mrs. Wilders, breaking away from him, hurried down the street.

It was not a long walk to the waterside. There she took a caique, or local boat, with two rowers in red fezzes, and was conveyed across the Bosphorus to the Asiatic side.

Landing at Scutari, Mrs. Wilders went straight to the great palace, which was now a hospital, and treading its long passages with the facility of one who had travelled the road before, she presently found herself in a spacious, lofty chamber filled with truckle-beds, and converted now into a hospital-ward.

"How is he?" she asked, going up at once to a sergeant who acted as superintendent and head nurse.

"Mr. Wilders, ma'am?" replied the sergeant, with a shake of the head.

"No improvement?"

"Far worse, ma'am, poor young chap! He died this morning, soon after daylight."

"And my lord—was his brother present?"

"Lord Lydstone watched with him through the night, and was here by the bedside when he died."

"Where is he now? Lord Lydstone, I mean."

"He went back on board his yacht, ma'am, I think. He said he should like a little sleep. But he is to be here again this afternoon, for the funeral."

"So soon?"

"Oh, yes! ma'am. It must take place at once, the doctors say."

Mrs. Wilders left the hospital, hesitating greatly what she should do. She would have liked to see and speak with Lydstone, but she had enough good feeling not to intrude by following him on board the yacht.

Then she resolved to attend the funeral too. It would show her sympathy, and Lord Lydstone would be bound to notice her.

He did see her, and came up after the ceremony to shake her hand.

"I am so sorry for you," she began.

"It is too terrible!" he exclaimed. "Both in one day."

He had heard of Balaclava, then.

"But I can't talk about it to-day. I will call on you to-morrow, if I may, in the morning. I am going back to England almost at once."

He came next day, and she received him in her little sitting-room at Misseri's.

"You know how I feel for you," she said, giving him both her hands, her fine eyes full of tears. "They were such splendid young fellows, too. It is so sad—so very sad."

"I am very grateful for your sympathy. But we will not talk about them, please," interrupted Lord Lydstone.

"You have my warmest and most affectionate sympathy. Is there anything I can do to console you, to prove to you how deeply, how sincerely, I feel for you?"

Her voice faltered, and she seemed on the point of breaking down.

"What news have you of the general?" asked Lord Lydstone, rather abruptly, as though to change the conversation.

"Good enough. He is all right," said Mrs. Wilders, dismissing inquiry for her husband in these few brusque words.

"I can't think of him just now," she went on. "It is you and your great sorrow that fill all my heart. Oh, Lydstone! dear Lord Lydstone, the pity of it!"

This tender commiseration was very captivating. But the low, sweet voice seemed to have lost its charm.