They were all in full uniform and accoutred, for it was the day of a great review; and all bowed with politeness to the sister of charity, who immediately withdrew to the shadow of the verandah. "I rejoice to see you, my dear boy," said the colonel; "we had all given you up as lost to us and to the regiment." "Lost, colonel?" I repeated. "Faith, did we, Newton," said Studhome. "We concluded that you had been waylaid—cut off in the flower of your youth and day-dawn of ambition, as the novels have it—by some Bulgarian footpads or rascally Bashi Bazooks, for I presume you know that no one can go beyond the advanced posts with safety without a revolver." "A rumour reached us of a British cavalry officer being conveyed seriously ill to the house of an Armenian gentleman," resumed Beverley. "We strongly suspected that you were the person, and the presumption became a certainty when yesterday this young lady brought your card to my tent at the cavalry camp." "She is a good little saint," said I, with enthusiasm. "And so, Norcliff, you have actually had cholera—that foul pest which is destroying our noble army piece-meal?" "I am recovering, as you see; but pray don’t linger here, colonel. There is danger by my side." "Norcliff, the air we breathe is full of cholera," said Beverley, impatiently twisting his grizzled moustache; "our poor fellows are dying of it like sheep with the rot!" "If the Emperor of Russia had planned the whole affair himself, he could not have taken better measures to weaken and decimate us than this useless camp at Varna." "You are right, Studhome—to decimate us before the war begins," added Jocelyn. "When do we take the field, colonel?" "No one knows." "Then how long are we to remain here?" "No one can tell. Satisfactory, isn’t it? In fact, no one knows anything." "Except," said Studhome, "that we are giving the Russians plenty of time to prepare a hot reception for us, if we venture to seek ’the bubble reputation’ in the Crimea—or military fame, which, as some one says, consists of ’a few orders on a tight uniform.’" "How far am I from the camp, colonel?" "About five miles." "Five miles!" I exclaimed, "Then you, my poor friend, Sister Archange, actually walked for me ten miles under a broiling sun yesterday?" "Yes, _monsieur le capitaine_," she replied; "and happy would I have been could I have returned with what you wished for." "How sorry I am! How can I ever repay, ever apologize, for the amount of trouble I have given you?" "Apologies are not to be thought of," said she, quietly; "and as for repayment, we do not look for that—here, at least." She smiled, and looked very beautiful. Twirling his carefully-bandolined moustache, Jocelyn, who had been observing her admiringly, was about to address her in, perhaps, rather a heedless way, when Beverley said to him pointedly—