“Good-bye, Mr. Bracebridge; good-bye, Monsieur Soyer. I shall see you again--I am coming on board in an hour. You will not sail till three o’clock. Indeed,” said he, going out, “I must take some lunch first, for I feel very faint.” “You’re right, admiral,” said I; “you work so hard, that if you don’t take care of number one, you will kill yourself.” “No fear of that, Monsieur Soyer; nothing can hurt an old fellow like me.” He then almost ran, instead of walking. Bidding the colonel and his lady adieu, Mr. Bracebridge and myself immediately went on board, fearing we might get late. Many visitors were still there, and the captain and Lord Ward begged of them to retire. A few minutes after, we were _en route_. The admiral was expected, but did not come; he sent some of his officials instead. As soon as we were under way, the couch was brought on deck--Miss Nightingale lying upon it. Mrs. Roberts held a white umbrella over her face to screen her from the extreme heat of the sun, fanning her at the same time. In the saloon, Lord Ward and myself were busily engaged in a most extraordinary sport, hunting the Crimean Zouave flies, which, no matter how you repulsed them, always came back to the charge. We had by this time entered the bay, but were still on half steam. Lord Ward bade Miss Nightingale farewell, as well as all on board, and went off in a small boat. We then shaped our course for Constantinople direct, it being too late to go and see Sebastopol. It was striking eight bells as we cleared the Bay of Balaklava. We were at sea; and our heroine was where I had recommended her to be, viz., between heaven and the ocean. Miss Nightingale remained on deck till nearly dusk. The sea was calm, and the burning sky was so strongly reflected upon its surface that we seemed to be rapidly traversing a lake of fire. The radiant face of the sun itself had for some time been concealed by the majestic rock upon which stands the monastery. The turbulent noise of the harbour was succeeded by a dead calm; even the zephyrs seemed to have deserted the collapsed sails, and nothing was heard but the rapid action of the paddles. Of all on board, only Miss Nightingale, her nurse, and myself seemed to enjoy this new scene of enchantment. The rest of the passengers were slumbering in the saloon. Even the turbulent voice of the cannon in and before Sebastopol was mute to our astonished and still-confused ears. Time, it is truly said, tries all! We were at the seat of war, looking at my watch, only eighty-seven minutes before.