THE MASTER OF ABERFELDIE BY JAMES GRANT AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "THE CAMERONIANS," "THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER," ETC., ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1884. _All rights reserved._ Contents Chapter I. Suspicion II. At Tel-el-Kebir III. At Grand Cairo IV. The Telegram V. Dead and Buried in the Sand VI. A Skirmish in the Desert VII. Hurdell Hall VIII. Sir Harry IX. The Cub-hunting X. Allan's Adventure XI. Among the Dwellers in Tents XII. Kismet XIII. The Last of Sir Paget XIV. The Young Widow XV. In the Desert XVI. Eastward Ho! XVII. At Ismailia XVIII. Clouds and Sunshine THE MASTER OF ABERFELDIE. CHAPTER I. SUSPICION. Many a wife, mother, and maid watched the progress of our troops from point to point in Egypt, from the bombardment of Alexandria, with the subsequent landing, up to the last telegram which announced that the army had begun its auspicious night march from Kassassin towards Tel-el-Kebir, but none could do so with more anxiety than had Olive Raymond and Eveline. To them and to how many loving hearts at home were the next telegrams fraught with terror and anxiety! Olive was free to rush to the newspapers as soon as they arrived. But not so Eveline, for so suspicious of her secret interest in one who was far away had Sir Paget become, that he absolutely kept them out of her sight as much as possible; and she had a terror in her heart that Evan Cameron might be killed in action, and, for a time, all unknown to her. Great was her craving for intelligence. She could not, like a man, go to clubs or newspaper offices, when the latest telegrams--often false ones--were posted up; and often nightly she went to bed with the agonising yet unasked question on her lips, 'Oh, what has happened to-day in Egypt?--what is happening _now_?' and she had to scan the morning papers, if at all, surreptitiously, eagerly, and feverishly, for what she did not want to see. How would she have suffered the old Peninsula war time, when news and battle lists appeared in the weekly and bi-weekly journals more than a month, yea, sometimes two months, after victories were won (we had no defeats in those long-service days), and after the grass was green above the graves of our gallant dead--the men that knew how to die, but never turn their heel before a foe--when our regiments fought for the historic glory of their number, as steadily as for king and country! Sir Paget knew the source of his young wife's anxiety, and watched her grimly. 'How dull my life is with _him_, kind though he tries to be,' thought the girl; 'we have not a thought, feeling, or inspiration in common. When with Evan, it seemed all inspiration, and thoughts came and went so fast. He always brought bright ones to me.'