O'Connor was
still in bed, and was likely to remain so for some time. The
regimental surgeon was with him, having left the other two officers at
the turn of the road leading to the village.
"I am glad to see you, Conway," Captain O'Connor said cheerfully. "I
was expecting you. The doctor said Morrison and Stapleton had gone on
to Ballyporrit. None the worse for your brush, I hope?"
"Not a bit," Ralph said. "The bump on my head caused by that musket
blow hurt me a bit the first day or two, but it's going down now. I am
glad to see you and Desmond looking so well."
"Oh, we shall soon be all right; though I am afraid I shall be kept on
my back for some little time. Desmond is rather in despair, because he
is afraid his beauty is spoiled; for the doctor says that cut on his
forehead is likely to leave a nasty scar. He would not have minded it
if it had been done by a French dragoon saber; but to have got it from
tumbling down a chimney troubles him sorely. It will be very painful
to him when a partner at a ball asks him sympathizingly in what battle
he was wounded, to have to explain that he tumbled head foremost into
a peat fire."
Desmond laughed. "Well, it is rather a nuisance; and you see Conway,
the ashes have got so ground up in the place that the doctor is afraid
it will be a black scar. O'Connor chaffs me about it, but I am sure he
wouldn't like it himself.
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