As Dalhousie and his aide-de-camp rode off, the noise of wheels and cracking of whips announced the arrival of some of the Royal Waggon-train. One of the cars was advancing straight towards him, but slowly, as its course was continually impeded by the dead and wounded lying across its way. An officer of the train, with an immense plume in his cocked-hat, and wearing the rich uniform of this easy branch of the service, rode beside the waggon, into which they were putting those wounded men whose cries attracted their attention. "The heights of Puebla?" said the waggon-officer, in a tone of surprise and expostulation to another who rode beside him. "Oh! it is quite impossible to detach any of my party so far." "How, sir! so far?" replied the other angrily, in the voice of Major Campbell. "And is a brave lad to bleed to death and have his bones picked by the corbies, because a loon like you is afraid to climb a hill? By the Lord! he shall not perish through the neglect of one like you, whose whole share of a battle is seeing the smoke and hearing the noise at a comfortable distance, and then coming in with these infernal rattle-traps to pick up the wounded when the danger is all over." He of the waggons was too much enraged to reply readily; and before he could speak, Ronald heard the voices of Macdonald and Evan Iverach. "Come, major, don’t quarrel about it. I am afraid that it will be a fruitless errand seeking Stuart among the heights. Poor fellow! I am too sure he was quite dead when we passed him this morning." "Oh, Mr. Macdonald, dinna say sae!" groaned Evan, who had been lamenting as they came along, "dinna say sae! I have had an awfu’ day o’ wae and anxiety upon his account. There he is—God preserve me in my senses! No, my een dinna deceive me,—there he is!" cried Evan in a voice rising into a scream nearly, while he rushed forward as Stuart’s figure, moving slowly towards them, met his view. Evan, as usual, began to caper and dance, blubber and weep with joy, while Campbell and Alister warmly shook the hand of his master. "Ha, Stuart, my lad! I knew you were hard to kill," said Campbell; "and so, in spite of Alister’s assertions that you were gone ’to the land of the leal,’ I determined to set out in search of you as soon as the regiment halted. Old Ludovick Lisle of ours would have been buried alive, once upon a time, in Egypt, but for my interference. He had been struck down by an iron mace in some brawl with a loon of a Mameluke, and I knew that he was only stunned; so I poured a glass of brandy down his throat, and brandy never failed to bring old Ludovick to, whatever was the matter."