"Hooroo, major! Here we are, safe and sound. We didn't expect to meet you for another eight miles." Major O'Connor was hurrying to the door, but the girl was there before him. "Welcome home, Terence! Welcome home!" she exclaimed, smiling through her tears, as she leaned into the coach and held out both her hands to him, and then drew aside to make room for his father. "Welcome home, Terence!" the latter said, as he wrung his hand. "I did not think it would have been like this, but it might have been worse." "A great deal worse, father. Now, will you and the guard help me out? This is the most difficult business I have to do." It was with some difficulty he was got out of the coach. As soon as he had steadied himself on his crutches, Mary came up again, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him. "We are cousins, you know, Terence," she said, "and as your arms are occupied, I have to take the initiative." She was half laughing and half crying. The guard hurried to get the portmanteaus out of the boot. As soon as he had placed them in the road he shouted to the coachman, and climbed up on to his post as the vehicle drove on; the passengers on the roof giving hearty cheers for the two disabled officers. By this time, the major was heartily shaking hands with O'Grady. "I saw in the Gazette that you were hit again, O'Grady." "Yes. I left one little memento of meself in Portugal, and it was only right that I should lave another in Spain. It has been worrying me a good deal, because I should have liked to have brought them home to be buried in the same grave with me, so as to have everything handy together. How they are ever to be collected when the time comes bothers me entirely, when I can't even point out where they are to be found." "You have not lost your good spirits anyhow, O'Grady." "I never shall, I hope, O'Connor; and even if I had been inclined to, Terence would have brought them back again." As they stood chatting, a manservant had placed the portmanteaus on the box of a pretty open carriage, drawn by two horses. "This is our state carriage, Terence, though we don't use it very often for, when I go about by myself, I ride. Mary has a pony carriage, and drives herself about. "You remember Pat Cassidy, don't you?" "Of course I do, now I look at him," Terence said. "It's your old soldier servant," and he shook hands with the man. "He did not come home with you, did he, father?" "No, he was badly wounded at Talavera, and invalided home. They thought that he would not be fit for service again, and so discharged him; and he found his way here, and glad enough I was to have him." Aided by his father and O'Grady, Terence took his place in the carriage. His father seated himself by his side, while Mary and O'Grady had the opposite seat. "There is one advantage in losing legs," O'Grady said. "We can stow away much more comfortably in a carriage. Is this the nearest point to your place?"