He came up and took my two hands in his, as if he had been the friend of a lifetime, instead of the acquaintance of an evening. "I think, I hope he is safe," he said, looking very white. "How safe?" I asked; "tell me _all_, Mr Popham, if you please." "I will," he answered; "it is a flesh-wound in the shoulder, nothing of consequence, on my honour; he bade me tell you so, with his love." "Am I to understand that you have left Mr Englefield wounded?" I asked; it never struck me, in my consternation, that I had worded the question harshly, till I saw Mr Popham's look of deep distress. There was not the least anger in the crimson glow that suffused his face, nor in his voice as he huskily answered: "I deserve this for my cruel ingratitude towards him at Ragusa, but, on my honour, Mrs Englefield, I am not to blame for leaving him now, nor shall I know rest till I am again at his side." "Thank you, thank you," I answered; "we will lose no time in going to him; and now, let me hear some particulars." "We reached Scutari all right," said Mr Popham; "the Pasha had just left it to attack a fort belonging to the Prince of the Black Mountain; so we followed, and reached the camp just as the fort was being stormed. That evening we had an audience of the Pasha, in which Englefield laid the whole matter before him; he spoke us fair, and promised help, but it was all a sham, a regular sham; you will not wonder this when I tell you that Orlando Jones, unseen by us was at the Pasha's elbow, bribing, cringing, and sticking at nothing to gain his ends! It seems the wretched man has long been in communication with the Turks, and has now adopted the Mussulman creed and dress. In requital, a lucrative post has been conferred on him."