“Very well,” was the dull answer, and then he flared out. “Faith, it’s your own fault for giving me a job of this kind. You knew me. You know that I am just a blunt, simple soldier--that my place is at the head of a regiment, not at the head of an administration. You should have known that by putting me out of my proper element I was bound to get into trouble sooner or later.” “Perhaps I do,” said Wellington. “But what am I to do with you now?” He shrugged, and strode towards the window. “You had better go home, O’Moy. Your health has suffered out here, and you are not equal to the heat of summer that is now increasing. That is the reason of this resignation. You understand?” “I shall be shamed for ever,” said O’Moy. “To go home when the army is about to take the field!” But Wellington did not hear him, or did not seem to hear him. He had reached the window and his eye was caught by something that he saw in the courtyard. “What the devil’s this now?” he rapped out. “That is one of Sir Robert Craufurd’s aides.” He turned and went quickly to the door. He opened it as rapid steps approached along the passage, accompanied by the jingle of spurs and the clatter of sabretache and trailing sabre. Colonel Grant appeared, followed by a young officer of Light Dragoons who was powdered from head to foot with dust. The youth--he was little more--lurched forward wearily, yet at sight of Wellington he braced himself to attention and saluted. “You appear to have ridden hard, sir,” the Commander greeted him. “From Almeida in forty-seven hours, my lord,” was the answer. “With these from Sir Robert.” And he proffered a sealed letter. “What is your name?” Wellington inquired, as he took the package. “Hamilton, my lord,” was the answer; “Hamilton of the Sixteenth, aide-de-camp to Sir Robert Craufurd.” Wellington nodded. “That was great horsemanship, Mr. Hamilton,” he commended him; and a faint tinge in the lad’s haggard cheeks responded to that rare praise. “The urgency was great, my lord,” replied Mr. Hamilton. “The French columns are in movement. Ney and Junot advanced to the investment of Ciudad Rodrigo on the first of the month.” “Already!” exclaimed Wellington, and his countenance set. “The commander, General Herrasti, has sent an urgent appeal to Sir Robert for assistance.” “And Sir Robert?” The question came on a sharp note of apprehension, for his lordship was fully aware that valour was the better part of Sir Robert Craufurd’s discretion. “Sir Robert asks for orders in this dispatch, and refuses to stir from Almeida without instructions from your lordship.” “Ah!!” It was a sigh of relief. He broke the seal and spread the dispatch. He read swiftly. “Very well,” was all he said, when he had reached the end of Sir Robert’s letter. “I shall reply to this in person and at, once. You will be in need of rest, Mr. Hamilton. You had best take a day to recuperate, then follow me to Almeida. Sir Terence no doubt will see to your immediate needs.”