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Updated: June 27, 2025
The last shining files of bayonets had passed; the city swarmed like an ant-hill. Berkley's voice was in her ears, cool, good-humoured: "Perhaps we had better try to find Mrs. Craig. I saw Stephen in the crowd, and he saw us, so I do not think your sister-in-law will be worried."
Then Fear bellowed in Berkley's ear; but he had already clapped spurs to his horse, cantering out across the burning planking and straight into the smoke pall. "Where are you, Burgess?" he shouted. The Fear of Death stiffened his lips as he reined up in the whirling spark-shot obscurity.
Colonel Arran lay with eyes closed, a slight flush on his sunken cheeks; and, before long, Berkley's hand lay over his and remained there.
Berkley's throat closed; he could not speak; nor did he know what he might have said could he have spoken, for within him all had seemed to crash softly into chaos, and he had no mind, no will, no vigour, only a confused understanding of emotion and pain, and a fierce longing. Colonel Arran's sunken eyes never left his, watching, wistful, patient.
In the gathering gloom eastward he saw the horizon redden and darken and redden with the cannon flashes; the immense battle rumour filled his ears and brain, throbbing, throbbing. "Which way, friend?" demanded a patrol, carelessly throwing his horse across Berkley's path. "Orderly to Colonel Arran, 8th New York Lancers, wounded. Is that the hospital, yonder?"
And," looking from Celia to Berkley, "she is well and unhurt. The fighting is farther west now. Mrs. Paige heard yesterday that the 8th Lancers were encamped near Paigecourt and asked me to find Mr. Berkley and deliver a letter " She smiled, drew from her satchel a letter, and, disengaging her other hand from Celia's, went over to the bed and placed it in Berkley's hands.
Make the effort if you wish." Berkley's sunken eyes remained focussed on space; he was trying to consider. Then they turned painfully toward Colonel Arran again. "Ailsa Paige?" he whispered. The other said quietly: "She is at the base hospital near Azalea. I have seen her. She is well. . . . I did not tell her you were ill.
Ailsa's head was all awhirl; lips parted, she stared at Celia in stunned silence, making as yet no effort to reconcile the memory of the man she knew with this cold, merciless, passionless portrait. Nor did the suspicion occur to her that there could be the slightest connection between her sister-in-law's contempt for Colonel Arran and Berkley's implacable enmity.
"'Has never seen the sea! said Uncle John, smiling, 'then there is a great treat in store for you; so come away, my child, and we shall have a quiet half-hour before going to Mrs. Berkley's. "I don't think I shall ever forget that walk with Uncle John.
And, in consequence, I can now take my little girl away from here on furlough, thank God! and thanks to Ailsa Paige, who lied like a martyr in her behalf. And that's what I came here to tell you." He drew a long, shuddering breath, his hand relaxed on Berkley's shoulder, and fell away.
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