CHAPTER IV.
AT LAST.
No fuss indeed! Kate, as she sat in her husband's little tent waitingfor him to come to her, felt that so far she might have arrived from avery ordinary journey. The bearer, it is true, who had been theMajor's valet for years, had salaamed more profoundly than usual, hadeven put up a pious prayer, and expressed himself pleased; but he hadimmediately gone off to fetch hot water, and returning with it andclean towels, had suggested mildly that the mem might like to wash herface and hands. Kate, with a faint smile, felt there was no reason whyshe should not. She need not look worse than necessary. But she pausedalmost with a gasp at the familiar half-forgotten luxuries. Scentedsoap! a sponge--and there on the camp table a looking-glass! Sheglanced down with a start at the little round one in the ring shewore; then went over to the other. A toilet cover, brushes, and combs,her husband's razors, gold studs in a box; and there, her ownphotograph in a frame, a Bible, and a prayer book, the latter thingsbringing her no surprise, no emotion of any kind. For they had alwaysbeen fixtures on Major Erlton's dressing-table, mute evidences to nosentiment on his part, but simply to the bearer's knowledge of theproprieties and the ways of real sahibs. But the other things she sawmade her heart grow soft. The little camp bed, the simplicity andhardness of all in comparison with what her husband had been wont todemand of life; for he had always been a real prince, feeling therose-leaf beneath the feather bed, and never stinting himself incomfort. Then the swords, and belts, and Heaven knows what panoply ofwar--not spick-and-span decorations as they used to be in the olddays, but worn and used--gave her a pang. Well! he had always been agood soldier, they said.
And then, interrupting her thoughts, the old khansaman had come in,having taken time to array himself gorgeously in livery. The Father ofthe fatherless and orphan, he said, whimperingly, alluding to the factthat he had lost both parents--which, considering he was past sixty,was only to be expected--had heard his prayer. The mem was spared toFreddy-baba. And would she please to order dinner. As the Major-sahibdined at mess, her slave was unprepared with a roast. Fish also wouldpartake of tyranny; but he could open a tin of Europe soup, and with achicken cutlet--Kate cut him short with a request for tea; by and by,when--when the Major-sahib should have come. And when she was aloneagain, she shivered and rested her head on her crossed arms upon thetable beside which she sat, with a sort of sob. This--Yes!--this ofall she had come through was the hardest to bear. This surge of pity,of tenderness, of unavailing regret for the past, the present, thefuture. What?--What could she say to him, or he to her, that wouldmake remembrance easier, anticipation happier?
Hark! there was his step! His voice saying goodnight to CaptainMorecombe.
"I hope she will be none the worse," came the reply. "Good-night,Erlton--I'm--I'm awfully glad, old fellow."
"Thanks!"
She stood up with a sickening throb at her heart. Oh! she was gladtoo! So glad to see him and tell him to----
How tall he was, she thought, with a swift recognition of his goodlooks, as he came in, stooping to pass under the low entrance. Verytall, and thin. Much thinner, and--and--different somehow.
"Kate!" He paused half a second, looking at her curiously--"Kate!I'm--I'm awfully glad." He was beside her now, his big hands holdinghers; but she felt that she was further away from him than she hadbeen in that brief pause when she had half-expected, half-wished himto take her in his arms and kiss her as if nothing had happened, as iflife were to begin again. It would have been so much easier; theymight have forgotten then, both of them. But now, what came, must comewithout that chrism of impulse; must come in remembrance and regret._Awfully glad!_ That was what Captain Morecombe had said. Was there nomore between them than that? No more between her and this man, who wasthe father of her child. The sting of the thought made her draw himcloser, and with a sob rest her head on his shoulder. Then he stoopedand kissed her. "I--I didn't know. I wasn't sure if you'd like it," hesaid, "but I'm awfully glad, old girl, upon my life I am. You musthave had a terrible time."
She looked up with a hopeless pain in her eyes. He was gone from heragain; gone utterly. "It was not so bad as you might think," sheanswered, trying to smile. "Mr. Greyman did so much----"
"Greyman! You mean Douglas, I suppose?"
She stared for a second. "Douglas? I don't know. I mean----" Then shepaused. How could she say, "The man you rode against at Lucknow," whenshe wanted to forget all that; forget everything? And then a suddenfear made her add hastily, "He is here, surely--he came long ago."
Major Erlton nodded. "I know; but his real name is Douglas; at leasthe says so. Do you mean to say you haven't seen him? That he didn'thelp you to get out?"
"You mean that--that he has gone back?" asked Kate faintly.
Her husband gave a low whistle. "What a queer start; a sort of Box andCox. He went back to find you yesterday."
Kate's hand went up to her forehead almost wildly. Then Tara must haveknown. But why had she not mentioned it? Still, in a way, it was bestas it was; since once he heard she, Kate, had gone, he would return.For Tara would tell him, of course.
These thoughts claimed her for the moment, and when she looked up, shefound her husband watching her curiously.
"He must have done an awful lot for you, of course," he said shortly;"but I'd rather it had been anyone else, and that's a fact. However,it can't be helped. Hullo! here's the khansaman with some tea.Thoughtful of the old scoundrel, isn't it?"
"I--I ordered it," put in Kate, feeling glad of the diversion.
Major Erlton laughed kindly. "What, begun already? The old sinner'shad a precious easy time of it; but now----" He pulled himself upawkwardly, and, as if to cover his hesitation, walked over to a box,and after rummaging in it, brought out a packet of letters."Freddy's," he said cheerfully. "He's all right. Jolly as a sandboy. Ikept them--in--in case----"
A great gratitude made the past dim for a moment. He seemed nearer toher again. "I can't look at them to-night, Herbert," she said softly,laying her hand beside his upon them. "I'm--I'm too tired."
"No wonder. You must have your tea and go to bed," he replied. Then helooked round the tent. "It isn't a bad little place, you'll find--I'mon duty tonight--so--so you'll manage, I dare say."
"On duty?" she echoed, pouring herself out a cup of tea rather hastily."Where?"
"Oh! at the front. There is never anything worth going for now. We areboth waiting for the assault; that's the fact. But I shan't be backtill dawn, so----"
He was standing looking at her, tall, handsome, full of vitality; andsuddenly he lifted a fold of her tinsel-set veil and smiled.
"Jolly dress that for a fancy ball, and what a jolly scent it's got.It is that flower, isn't it? You look awfully well in it, Kate! Infact, you look wonderfully fit all round."
"So do you!" she said hurriedly, her hand going up to the hennablossom. There was a sudden quiver in her voice, a sudden fierce painin her heart. "You--you look----"
"Oh! I," he replied carelessly, still with admiring eyes, "I'm as fitas a fiddle. I say! where did you get all those jewels? What a lot youhave! They're awfully becoming."
"They are Mr. Greyman's," she said; "they belonged to his--to----"then she paused. But the contemptuously comprehending smile on herhusband's face made her add quietly, "to a woman--a woman _he lovedvery dearly_, Herbert."
There was a moment or two of silence, and then Major Erlton went tothe entrance, raised the curtain, and looked out. A flood of moonlightstreamed into the tent.
"It's about time I was off," he said after a bit, and there was aqueer constraint in his voice. Then he came over and stood by Kateagain.
"It isn't any use talking over--over things to-night, Kate," he saidquietly. "There's a lot to think of and I haven't thought of it atall. I never knew, you see--if this would happen. But I dare say youhave; you were always a oner at thinking. So--so you had better do itfor both of us. I don't care, _now_. It will be what you wish,
ofcourse."
"We will talk it over to-morrow," she said in a low voice. She wouldnot look in his face. She knew she would find it soft with the memoryheld in that one word--now. Ah! how much easier it would have been ifshe had never come back! And yet she shrank from the same thought onhis lips.
"There was always the chance of my getting potted," he said almostapologetically. "But I'm not. So--well! let's leave it forto-morrow."
"Yes," she replied steadily, "for to-morrow."
He gathered some of his things together, and then held out his hand."Good-night, Kate. I wouldn't lie awake thinking, if I were you.What's the good if it? We will just have to make the best of it forthe boy. But I'd like you to know two things----"
"Yes----"
"That I couldn't forget, of course; and that----" he paused. "Well!that doesn't matter; it's only about myself and it doesn't mean muchafter all. So, good-night."
As she moved to the door also, forced into following him by the achein her heart for him, more than for herself, the jingle of her ankletsmade him turn with an easy laugh.
"It doesn't sound respectable," he said; then, with a suddencompunction, added: "But the dress is much prettier than those dancinggirls', and--by Heaven, Kate! you've always been miles too good forme; and that's the fact. Well I--let us leave it for to-morrow."
Yes! for to-morrow, she told herself, with a determination not tothink as, dressed as she was, she nestled down into the strangesoftness of the camp bed, too weary of the pain and pity of thiscoming back even for tears. Yet she thought of one thing; not that shewas safe, not that she would see the boy again. Only of the thing hehad been going to tell her about himself. What was it? She wanted toknow; she wanted to know all--everything. "Herbert!" she whispered tothe pillow, "I wish you had told me--I want to know--I want to make iteasier for--for us all."
And so, not even grateful for her escape, she fell asleep dreamlessly.
It was dawn when she woke with the sound of someone talking outside.He had come back. No! that was not his voice. She sat up listening.
"The servants say she is asleep. Someone had better go in and wakeher. The Doctor----"
"He's behind with the dhooli. Ah! there's Morecombe; he knows her."
But there was no need to call her. Kate was already at the door, hereyes wide with the certainty of evil. There was no need even to tellher what had happened; for in the first rays of the rising sun, seenalmost starlike behind a dip in the rocky ridge, she saw a littleprocession making for the tent.
"He--he is dead," she said quietly. There was hardly a question in hertone. She knew it must be so. Had he not begged her to leave it tillto-morrow? and this was to-morrow. Were not her eyes full of itsrising sun, and what its beams held in their bright clasp?
"It seems impossible," said someone in a low voice, breaking in on thepitiful silence. "He always seemed to have a charmed life, and then,in an instant, when nothing was going on, the chance bullet."
It did not seem impossible to her.
"Please don't make a fuss about me, Doctor," she pleaded in a tonewhich went to his heart when he proposed the conventional solaces."Remember I have been through so--so much already. I can bear it. Ican, indeed, if I'm left alone with him--while it is possible. Yes! Iknow there is another lady, but I only want to be alone, with him."
So they left her there beside the little camp-bed with its new burden.There was no sign of strife upon him. Only that blue mark behind hisear among his hair, and his face showed no pain. Kate covered it witha little fine handkerchief she found folded away in a scented case shehad made for him before they were married. It had Alice Gissing'smonogram on it. It was better so, she told herself; he would haveliked it. She had no flowers except the faded henna blossom, but itsmelled sweet as she tucked it under the hand which she had left halfclasped upon his sword. She might at least tell him so, she thoughthalf bitterly, that the lesson was learned, that he might go in peace.
Then she sat down at the table and looked over their boy's lettersmechanically; for there was nothing to think of now. The morrow hadsettled the problem. Captain Morecombe came in once or twice to say aword or two, or bring in other men, who saluted briefly to her as theypassed to stand beside the dead man for a second, and then go outagain. She was glad they cared to come; had begged that any might comewho chose, as if she were not there. But at one visitor she lookedcuriously, for he came in alone. A tall man--as tall as Herbert, shethought--with a dark beard and keen, kindly eyes. She saw them, for heturned to her with the air of one who has a right to speak, and shestood up involuntarily.
"His name was up for the Victoria Cross, madam," said a clear,resonant voice, "as you may know; but that is nothing. He was a finesoldier--a soldier such as I--I am John Nicholson, madam--can illspare. For the rest--he leaves a good name to his son."
The sunlight streamed in for an instant on to the little bed and itsburden as he passed out, and glittered on the sword and tassels. Kateknelt down beside it and kissed the dead hand.
"That was what you meant, wasn't it, Herbert?" she whispered. "I wishyou had told it me yourself, dear."
She wished it often. Thinking over it all in the long days thatfollowed, it came to be almost her only regret. If he had told her, ifhe had heard her say how glad she was, she felt that she would haveasked no more. And so, as she went down every evening to lay the whiterosebuds the gardener brought her on his grave she used to repeat, asif he could hear them, his own words: "It is the finish that is thewin or the lose of a race."
That was what many a man was saying to himself upon the Ridge in thefirst week of September. For the siege train had come at last. Thewinning post lay close ahead, they must ride all they knew. But thosein command said it anxiously; for day by day the hospitals became morecrowded, and cholera, reappearing, helped to swell the rear-guard ofgraves, when the time had come for vanguards only.
But some men--among them Baird Smith and John Nicholson--took no heedof sickness or death. And these two, especially, looked into eachother's eyes and said, "When you are ready I'm ready." Their seniorsmight say that an assault would be thrown on the hazard of a die. Whatof that; if men are prepared to throw sixes, as these two were? Theyhad to be thrown, if India was to be kept, if this bubble ofsovereignty was to be pricked, the gas let out.
In the city and the Palace also, men, feeling the struggle close, puthand and foot to whip and spur. But there was no one within the wallswho had the seeing single eye, quick to seize the salient point of aposition. Baird Smith saw it fast enough. Saw the thickets and wallsof the Koodsia Gardens in front of him, the river guarding his left, asinuous ravine--cleaving the hillside into cover creeping down fromthe Ridge on his right to within two hundred yards of the city wall.And that bit of the wall, between the Moree gate and the WaterBastion, was its weakest portion. The curtain walls long, mereparapets, only wide enough for defense by muskets. So said the spies,though it seemed almost incredible to English engineers that thedefense had not been strengthened by pulling down the adjacent housesand building a rampart for guns.
In truth there was no one to suggest it, and if it had been suggestedthere was no one to carry it out, for even now, at the last, thePalace seethed with dissension and intrigue. Yet still the sham wenton inconceivably. Jim Douglas, indeed, walking through the bazaars inhis Afghan dress, very nearly met his fate through it. For he wasseized incontinently and made to figure as one of the retinue of theAmir of Cabul's ambassador, who, about the beginning of September, wasintroduced to the private Hall of Audience as a sedative to doubtfuldreamers, and a tonic to brocaded bags. Luckily for him, however,the men called upon to play the other part in the farce--chieflycloth-merchants from Peshawur and elsewhere, whom Jim Douglas haddodged successfully so far--had been in such abject fear of beingdiscovered themselves that they had no thought of discovering others.For Bahadur Shah had the dust and ashes of a Moghul in him still. JimDouglas recognized the fact in the very obstinacy of delusion in thewax-like, haggard old face looking wi
th glazed, tremulous-lidded eyesat the mock mission; and in the faded voice, accepting his vassal ofCabul's promise of help. It was an almost incredible scene, JimDouglas thought. Given it, there was no limit to possibilities in thisphantasmagoria of kingship. The white shadows of the marble archeswith their tale of boundless power and wealth in the past, the wideplains beyond, the embroidered curtain of the sunlit garden, thecurves of courtiers, most of them in the secret, no doubt; and belowthe throne these tag-rag and bob-tail of the bazaars, one of them atleast a hell-doomed infidel, figuring away in borrowed finery! Allthis was as unreal as a magic lantern picture, and like it wasfollowed hap-hazard, without rhyme or reason, by the next on theslide; for, as he passed out of the Presence he heard the question ofappointing a Governor to Bombay brought up and discussed gravely; thatprovince being reported to have sent in its allegiance _en bloc_ tothe Great Moghul. The slides, however, were not always so dignified,so decorous. One came, a day or two afterward, showing a miserable oldpantaloon driven to despair because six hundred hungry sepoys wouldnot behave according to strict etiquette, but, invading his privacywith threats, reduced him to taking his beautiful new cushion from thePeacock Throne and casting it among them.
"Take it," he cried passionately, "it is all I have left. Take it, andlet me go in peace!"
But the lesson was not learned by him as yet; so he had to remain; foronce more the sepoys sent out word that there was to be no skulking.To do the Royal family justice, however, they seem by this time tohave given up the idea of flight. To be sure they had no place towhich they could fly, since the dream required that background ofrose-red wall and marble arches. So even Abool-Bukr, forsakingdrunkenness as well as that kind, detaining hand, clung to hiskinsfolk bravely, behaving in all ways as a newly married young princeshould who looked toward filling the throne itself at some futuretime.[8]
The sepoys themselves had given up blustering, and many, like Soma,had taken to bhang instead; drugging themselves deliberately intoindifference. The latter had recovered from the blow on the back ofhis head, which, however, as is so often the case, had for the time atany rate deprived him of all recollection of the events immediatelypreceding it. So, as Tara had restored his uniform before he was ableto miss it, he treated her as if nothing had occurred; greatly to herrelief. The fact had its disadvantages, however, by depriving her ofall corroborative evidence of the mem having really left the city.Thus Jim Douglas, warned by past experience, and made doubtful byTara's strange reticences, refused to believe it. Her whole story,indeed, marred, as it was, by the endless reserves and exaggerations,seemed incredible; the more so because Tiddu--who lied wildly as tohis constant sojourn in Delhi--professed utter disbelief in it. So,after a few days' unavailing attempt to get at the truth, Jim Douglassent the old man off with a letter of inquiry to the Ridge, and waitedfor the answer.
Waited, like all Delhi, under the shadow of the lifted sword whichhung above the city. A sword, held behind a simulacrum of many, by onearm, sent for that purpose; for John Lawrence, being wise, knew thatthe shadow of that arm meant more even than the sword it held to thewildest half of the province under his control, a province tremblingin the balance between allegiance and revolt; a province ready tocatch fire if the extinguisher were not put upon the beacon light. Andall India waited too. Waited to see that sword fall.
But a hatchet fell first. Fell in the lemon thickets and pomegranatesof the walled old gardens, so that men who worked at the batteriesstill remember the sweet smell that went up from the crushed leaves. Awelcome change; for the Ridge, crowded now with eleven thousandtroops, was not a pleasant abode. It was on Sunday, the 6th ofSeptember, that the final reinforcements came in, and on the 7th themen, reading General Wilson's order for the appointing of prize agentsin each corps, and his assurance that all plunder would be dividedfairly, felt as if they were already within the walls. The hospitals,too, were giving up their sick; those who could not be of use going tothe rear, Meerut-ward, those fit for work to the front. And that nightthe first siege battery was traced and almost finished below theSammy-House, while, under cover of this distraction on the right, theKoodsia Gardens and Ludlow Castle on the left were occupied by strongpickets.
But that first battery--only seven hundred yards from the MoreeBastion--had a struggle for dear life. The dawn showed but one gun inposition against all the concentrated fire of the bastion which,during the night, had been lured into a useless duel with the olddefense batteries above. Only one gun at dawn; but by noon--despiteassault and battery--there were five, answering roar for roar. Thenfor the first time began that welcome echo: the sound of crumblingwalls, the grumbling roll of falling stones and mortar. By sunset thegradually diminishing fire from the bastion had ceased, and thebastion itself was a heap of ruins. By this time the four guns in theleft section of the battery were keeping down the fire from theCashmere gate, and so protecting the real advance through the gardens.That was the first day of the siege, and Kate Erlton, sitting in herlittle tent, which had been moved into a quiet spot, as she had beggedto be allowed to stay on the Ridge until some news came of the man towhom she owed so much, thought with a shudder she could not help, ofwhat it must mean to many an innocent soul shut up within those walls.It was bad enough here, where the very tent seemed to shake. It mustbe terrible down there beside the heating guns, in the roar and therattle, the grime and the ache and strain of muscle. But in thecity--even in Sri Anunda's garden----!
So, naturally enough, she wondered once more what could have become ofthe man who had gone back to find her nearly ten days before.
"May I come in? John Nicholson."
She would have recognized the voice even without the name, for it wasnot one to be forgotten. Nor was the owner, as he stood before her, aletter in his hand.
"I have heard from Mr. Douglas, Mrs. Erlton," he said. "It is in thePersian character, so I presume it is no use showing it to you. But itconcerns you chiefly. He wants to know if you are safe. I have toanswer it immediately. Have you any message you would like to send?"
"Any message?" she echoed. "Only that he must come back at once, ofcourse."
John Nicholson looked at her calmly.
"I shall say nothing of the kind," he replied. "It is best for a manto decide such matters for himself."
She flushed up hotly. "I had not the slightest intention of dictatingto Mr.--Mr. Douglas, General Nicholson; but considering how much hehas already sacrificed for my sake----"
"You had better let him do as he likes, my dear madam," interruptedthe General, with a sudden kindly smile, which, however, faded asquickly as it came, leaving his face stern. "He, like many anotherman, has sacrificed too much for women, Mrs. Erlton; so if ever youcan make up to him for some of the pain, do so--he is worth it.Good-by. I'll tell him that you are safe; but that in spite of that,he has my permission to go ahead and kill--the more the better."
She had not the faintest idea why he made this last remark; but it didnot puzzle her, for she was occupied with his previous one. Sacrificedtoo much! That was true. He carried the scars of the knife upon himclearly. And the man who had just left her presence, who, for all hiscourtesy, had treated her so cavalierly? She was rather vexed withherself for feeling it, but a sudden sense of being a poor creaturecame over her. It flashed upon her that she could imagine a worldwithout women--she was in one, almost, at that very moment--but not aworld without men. Yet that ceaseless roar filling the air had more todo with women than men; it went more as a challenge of revenge than astern recall to duty.
It was true. The men, working night and day in the batteries, thoughtlittle of men's rights, only of women's wrongs. Even General Wilson inhis order had appealed to those under him on that ground only, urgingthem to spend life and strength freely in vengeance on murderers.
And they did. Down in the scented Koodsia Gardens the men never seemedto tire, never to shrink, though the shot from the city--not twohundred and fifty yards away--flew pinging through the trees abovethem. But the high wall gave cove
r, and so those off duty sleptpeacefully in the cool shade, or sat smoking on the river-terrace.
Thus, while the first battery, pounding away from the right at theMoree and Cashmere bastions, diverted attention, and the enemy,deceived by the feint, lavished a dogged courage in trying to keep upsome kind of reply, a second siege battery in two sections was tracedand made in front of Ludlow Castle, five hundred yards from theCashmere gate. By dawn on the 11th both sections were at workdestroying the defenses of the gate, and pounding away to breach thecurtain wall beside it. So the roar was doubled, and the vibrations ofthe air began to quiver on the wearied ear almost painfully. Yet theywere soon trebled, quadrupled. Trebled by a party of wide-mouthedmortars in the garden itself. Quadrupled by a wicked, dare-devil,impertinent little company of six eighteen-pounders and twelve smallmortars, which, with Medley of the Engineers as a guide, tookadvantage of a half ruined house to creep within a hundred and sixtyyards of the doomed walls despite the shower of shell and bullets fromit. For by this time the murderers in the city had found out that themen were at work at something in the scented thickets to the left. Notthat the discovery hindered the work. The native pioneers, who borethe brunt of it, digging and piling for the wicked little intruder,were working with the master, working with volunteers--officers andmen alike--from the 9th Lancers and the Carabineers. So, when one oftheir number toppled over, they looked to see if he were dead or alivein order to sort him out properly. And if he was dead they would weepa few tears as they laid him in the row beside the others of his kind,before they went on with their work quietly; for, having to decidewhether a comrade belonged to the dead or the living thirty-nine timesone night, they began to get expert at it. So by the 12th, fifty gunsand mortars flashed and roared, and the rumble of falling stonesbecame almost continuous. Sometimes a shell would just crest theparapet, burst, and bring away yards of it at a time.
Up on the Ridge behind the siege batteries, when the cool of theevening came on, every post was filled with sightseers watching thesalvos, watching the game. And one, at least, going back to get readyfor mess, wrote and told his wife at Meerut, that if she were at thetop of Flagstaff Tower, she would remain there till the siege wasover--it was so fascinating. But they were merry on the Ridge in thesedays, and the messes were so full that guests had to be limited atone, till they got a new leaf in the table! Yet on the other slope ofthe Ridge, men were tumbling over like the stones in the walls.Tumbling over one after another in the batteries, all through thenight of the 12th, and the day of the 13th.
Then at ten o'clock in the evening, men, sitting in the mess-tents,looked at each other joyfully, yet with a thrill in their veins, asthe firing ceased suddenly. For they knew what that meant; they knewthat down under the very walls of the city, friends and comrades werecreeping, sword in one hand, their lives in the other, through thestarlight, to see if the breaches were practicable.
But the city knew them to be so; and already the last order sent bythe Palace to Delhi was being proclaimed by beat of drum through thestreets.
So, monotonously, the cry rang from alley to alley.
"Intelligence having just been brought that the infidels intend anassault to-night, it is incumbent on all, Hindoo and Mohammedan, fromdue regard to their faith, to assemble directly by the Cashmere gate,bringing iron picks and shovels with them. This order is imperative."
Newasi Begum, among others, heard it as she sat reading. She stood upsuddenly, overturning the book-rest and the Holy Word in her haste;for she felt that the crisis was at hand. She had never seenAbool-Bukr since the night, now a whole month past, when he hadtaunted her with being one more woman ready for kisses. Her pride hadkept her from seeking him, and he had not returned. But now herresentment gave way before her fears. She _must_ see him--since Godonly knew what might be going to happen!
True in a way. But up on the Ridge one man felt certain of one thing.John Nicholson, with the order for an assault at dawn safe in hishand, knew that he would be in Delhi on the 14th of September--a dayearlier than he had expected.