“Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the Six Hundred.”
                                TENNYSON.

That James Wallace, Miss Mercer’s Jim, should turn out to be Walter Melville, a Melville of Stratharbuck, made more than a nine-day’s talk at Gailside. And it was wonderful what minute details of Jim’s childhood and youth were remembered by the Gailside folk, and communicated to Mr. Melville, as he went about the village finding out what he could. He accepted the laird’s invitation to remain a few days at Glengail while he collected all the information that was possible. But, after all, he knew everything that was of value already. He possessed the marriage certificate of his brother and Jim’s mother; he had obtained a copy of the registration of Jim’s birth; the servant, who had been in the employment of Mrs. Walter Melville, had testified to that united M. and W. on the child’s arm; and Alison, in no uncertain way, spoke as to finding this same mark on the arm of the little waif rescued by Miss Mercer. The date on which the child disappeared from Barrackhampton, and that on which he had been discovered at Gailside, had been ascertained; but what had taken place in the time that intervened, and what the course of Jim’s wanderings had been, it was most unlikely would ever be discovered now. Mr. Melville felt this was of little consequence; he was perfectly satisfied as to the identity of the child; and was now only intent on, as he said, putting everything right, and making up to his brother’s son for the past.

About this time two letters were despatched from Gailside to the Crimea.

MY DEAR SON ARCHIE,

       “Since I last wrote to you, I have made a strange and unexpected discovery, with which I must endeavour as shortly as possible to acquaint you. You have heard of your uncle Walter, of the Royal Tricolours, who was killed in Spain. And I believe you are also aware that, in consequence of a marriage of which he did not approve, your grandfather cut him out of his will. I am not sure—you were so young at the time—if you ever heard the details of the death of your uncle’s wife, and of the disappearance of his only child. For fourteen years the boy has been missing, and only within the last few days by a strange chance have I been able to trace him. It appears the lad has been known to you; I am even told you were friends; and he has now enlisted in your regiment, under the name by which he always has been known here, James Wallace. I have proved beyond doubt he is my brother’s son. To make assurance doubly sure, do you ascertain that he has upon his left arm what appears to be an M. or W. He is your cousin, Walter Melville. And I wish you at once to assure him that he will be received by us as my brother’s son, that I will buy him a commission, and that, God helping me, I will make up to him for all these past years.

“I have learned nothing but good of my nephew from every one whom I have asked about him. His education, doubtless, has not been what that of a Melville of Stratharbuck ought to be; but I learn, too, that he has a remarkable intellect and love of literature, and that the old Melville spirit led him unerringly to the army. I will write to your cousin myself, by a later mail, but in the mean time I wish you to know this strange and unexpected news, and to communicate it at once to him.

“I have met with much kindness here from all the Hamilton family; and Miss Evie in particular has shown herself most sympathetic in this business.

“Your mother frets about you; write to her as regularly as you can. And, though I would not have you foolhardy, do your duty, my son, and never forget the name you bear. God bless you and keep you safe.

                                                    “Your affectionate father,

                                                                                                        “ARCHIBALD MELVILLE

“MY DEAR JIM,

       “But you aren’t Jim, you’re Walter, and everything feels upside down, I don’t know how to begin. Luckily, I needn’t tell you about it properly, for Archie is to do that, and Mr. Melville is going to write to you himself.

“But, oh, Jim, isn’t it splendid you are to be an officer the same as Archie? And when you come home covered with glory and medals and things, what a good time we shall have! Mr. Melville keeps on saying he is going to make up for it all to you. I remember Captain Field said once (when we were all young, you know, and Archie was cruel to my Maryanne) that we were always wanting to make up for it, and we never could. But this time, Jim, it is really going to be true—really, really, really!

“It feels so funny to think you and Archie are cousins. And yet, I remember that first time you met, when you stood up and fought with each other, for one moment I saw how like you were. And it’s odd how like Mr. Melville is to you, more like than he is to Archie; but they say he resembles his mother’s people more than he does the Melvilles. And you are a Melville of Stratharbuck, and your father was Captain Melville of the Tricolours, that everybody talks about yet as such a gallant soldier. Oh, Jim, and the worsted will be gold lace after all! Don’t you wish Miss Mercer knew about it all? I wonder—perhaps she does. I can’t write about anything else, because I haven’t thought about anything else since it happened. So good-bye, Walter—no, Jim, dear old Jim.

                                                    “Your affectionate friend,

                                                                                                        “EVELYN HAMILTON.”

But these letters never reached the Crimea till after the 25th of October had come and gone.

The 25th of October: the day on which Agincourt was fought and won. A day which surely must be held sacred by Englishmen and Englishwomen as long as English hearts have power to thrill at the name of Balaclava.

The Heavy Brigade had charged up the hill, cutting their way into the midst of the seething mass of grey, while gallant old Sir John Scarlett broke recklessly away from the squadrons he commanded, and lost himself for the time in the column of Russian horsemen.

It was a day made for heroes.

“Charge!”

The fatal mistake had been made, the fatal order given, and Lord Cardigan’s light cavalry were riding up the valley, artillery pouring down on them from every side. On came the three lines—the 13th Hussars and the 17th Lancers; the 11th Hussars; and the 4th and 8th Hussars; not seven hundred strong in all, but names which England may well set for gems upon her brow for ever.

“Charge!”

In perfect order they galloped on till they came in sight of the Russian battery; and then one of the officers delivered that shrill “Tallyho,” which seemed in a moment to send the men mad, and breaking from their orderly lines into a wild race, they hurled themselves on the gunners.

In the thick of the breathless mêlée rode Jim, slashing at the thick Russian great-coats, while all around him “horse and hero fell.” As to the mad brilliant thing they were dong, what did he or any one of them realize of it then? They had to take the guns—that was all they knew or cared. It was insane; it was not war; but as the brave French officer who saw it said, with generous and irrepressible admiration, it was magnificent; and as magnificent it will go ringing down the ages.

Something smashed against Jim’s left hand. A shell had burst near him, and his wrist was hanging powerless. Well, never mind, it was only the left. He caught the reins in his teeth and fought on. And how our men fought, despite the withering fire mowing them down like grass, the Russians that lay piled among the guns when the English rode back told only too well.

They had turned, and were hacking their way out, when Jim suddenly uttered a short impatient cry, as he found his sword was broken. Probably his horse would carry him out, though he had a fear he too was wounded; but what more good could he do with a broken sword? Showers of grape and canister, minie balls on every side; riderless horses galloping about in all directions; wounded men grasping at them, and being shot down like dogs; through it all Jim rode on.

“Hallo there! Jim, help me out of this! I can’t get a horse!” said a voice beside him, and Archie Melville caught at his stirrup-leather.

Jim bent, and lent the aid of his unwounded arm to drag his cousin up beside him.

“He’ll take us both out all right, I dare say,” said Archie, who, though unhorsed, was himself unwounded.

But would he? Jim doubted it. He knew now the horse was wounded, and he felt him falter under the double weight. He was silent till again he felt that unsteady movement.

“Sit still,” said Archie, suddenly. “What are you up to now, Jim?”

“Take the reins, sir,” Jim said. “He’ll do all right with you.” And the next moment he had slipped out of the saddle.

“Here! Hi! Come back! I’m not going to leave you like that!” cried Archie.

But there was no answer. Jim had disappeared; and, in the smoke and wild confusion, how was he to be found again? Archie did his best, but it was useless; he had to give it up and ride on.

Lord Lucan had brought up his brigade by this time, and the French chasseurs were busy silencing a battery playing on the flank of the English cavalry. About half a mile still lay between Archie and safety; but Jim’s horse carried him on, till just as he reached the English lines, with a sudden shock, the gallant beast fell dead.

And Jim was fighting his way along on foot. Twice he caught at riderless horses galloping by, but in vain; they eluded him. He had but one hand of use; and he found, to his surprise, when at last he did succeed in seizing one, that he was too weak to stop it. He had had no time to think that the blood was draining from his wounded hand. Now, with the other and his teeth, he bound his handkerchief around it in some sort of fashion; and then he struggled on.

A frantic horse, tearing past, knocked him down and half-stunned him for the moment. Staggering to his feet again, he found a Cossack lance thrust at him; he struck it up with his broken sword, and making a rush forward, disappeared in the thickest smoke.

Still he went on, till something struck him—where, he did not know. Was it his side? Perhaps. He was sick and faint with pain, and things were growing dim. Stumbling, and sometimes falling, he ran on in a blind sort of way towards the English lines, till suddenly, sight and strength both failing utterly, he fell, and did not rise again.

He was nearer that he had thought, though Russian shot and shell were still falling thickly round where he lay. Two English soldiers came out and carried him in.

“One of your men, I believe, Field,” some one said to Captain Field, who had ridden in with two or three behind him.

“One of our men!” he said, with something like a groan. “God help them! How many have we left?”

He turned towards the place where Jim lay, but Archie Melville stepped forward and put him aside.

“He has given his life for mine,” he said in choking accents. “He might have ridden in safely but for me. Do you know me, Jim, dear old man? Can’t you speak to me again?”

But it seemed that his voice had no power to call Jim’s spirit back from the shades it was wandering through.

Captain Field bent over him. “Do you know me, my lad?” he said. Then he drew back, and touched Archie’s shoulder, as he added, “I think it’s too late.”

But Archie knelt beside his cousin. “He must speak again,” he said. “He must for the sake of the old days and Gailside.”

Jim’s eyelids quivered and unclosed, and something like a look of recognition came into the already glazing eyes.

“Jim, dear lad,” said Captain Field, “is there any word you want to send home?”

Jim’s right hand moved uncertainly after his sword which still hung by its sling from his wrist. He gave it a feeble push towards Archie, and then his lips moved. Lower and yet lower Archie bent his head to catch the words.

“For Miss Evie,” Jim said.

And then he passed through the veil to the other side, which is so near and yet so far, where all wrong things come right, and shall be “made up for” a thousandfold.

THE END.

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