“The Lord be praised, Mr. Conway.  Sure, I thought you were dead and kilt entirely.”

“Is that you, Denis?”

“Sure and it’s no one else, your honor.”

“Is the battle over?”

“It is that.  The French are miles away, and the Proosians at their heels.”

“What has happened to me, Denis?”

“Well, your honor’s hurt a bit in the arm, but it will all come right presently.”

It was well for Ralph that he had been struck before the order came for the advance, for as he fell the one surviving surgeon of the regiment had at once attended to him, had fixed a tourniquet on the stump of his arm, tied the arteries, and roughly bandaged it.  Had he not been instantly seen to he would have bled to death in a few minutes.

Denis now called to one of the parties who were moving about with stretchers.  Ralph was lifted on to it and carried to the village of Waterloo where he was placed in an ambulance wagon which, as soon as it was full, started for Brussels.

The fighting was now over, and Denis asked leave to accompany his master.  The rout of the enemy had been so thorough and complete that it was not thought probable any serious resistance could be offered to the advance of the allied armies to Paris, and he therefore obtained leave without difficulty to remain with his master.  Ralph suffered from exhaustion rather than pain on the journey to Brussels, and several times became almost unconscious.  At four o’clock in the morning the ambulance stopped at a handsome house that its owner had placed at the disposal of the authorities for the use of wounded officers.  He was carried upstairs and placed in bed in a room on the second story.  Denis at once proceeded to install himself there.  He brought down a mattress from a room above, laid it in the corner, throwing his greatcoat over it, then as soon as he thought the shops were open he hurried out and bought a kettle and saucepan, two cups and tumblers, a small basin, and several other articles.

“There, your honor,” he said as he returned.  “Now we have got iverything we need, and I can make soups and drinks for your honor, and boil myself a tater widout having to go hunting all over the house for the things to do it with.”

A few minutes later two surgeons entered the room and examined Ralph’s arm.  They agreed at once that it was necessary to amputate it three inches higher up, Ralph winced when he heard the news.

“It won’t hurt you very much,” one of the surgeons said.  “The nerves are all numbed with the shock they have had, but it is absolutely necessary in order that a neat stump may be made of it.  The bone is all projecting now; and even if the wound healed over, which I don’t think it would, you would have trouble with it all your life.”

“Of course if it must be done, it must,” Ralph said.  “There isn’t much left of it now.”

“There is not enough to be of much use,” the surgeon agreed; “but even a shorter stump that you can fit appliances on to will be a great deal more handy than one with which nothing can be done.”