"Rather easy for us to forgive one who is dead, is it not, Ted? Can we forgive now, at this moment, those rebels who want to kill us?"

"I suppose that you forgive 'em, Ethel, but I can't say that I do."

"But I didn't forgive Tynan, Ted. I heard of that fight you had; in fact, I met Tynan just afterwards, and very tactlessly asked him what had happened, supposing he had met with an accident. Unluckily he had not had time to cool down, and--well, he laughed in my face and forgot himself. You see, his people are wealthy, but not quite--you know what I mean?--he's not a gentleman, and he hinted at the cause of your fight."

"The cad!" said Ted.

"Steady, old boy! I felt as if I could never forgive him, so please don't imagine I'm making myself out better than you. I feel bad about it now, and if by any chance he should escape I should find it easy to forgive him, though there's little credit in that."

"I didn't think he could have done such a thing," said Ted. "I forgive that mullah and his friends who knifed me, so long as I think they've both been killed, but if I should see 'em to-morrow I'm afraid I should still remember that I owe 'em one."

"Yet, as I said before, you'd risk your life willingly enough to save theirs, just as they do in the story-books." Miss Woodburn laughed as she went on: "I must say that it annoys me to read those tales entitled _A Noble Revenge_ or _Coals of Fire_, or something of the kind, where someone who has been greatly injured takes his revenge by saving his enemy from drowning, or climbs to the top story of a burning house and rescues the evil-doer, who promptly repents. It's all very noble, of course; but it's such a thorough vindication, and such glory for the rescuer, that a more complete triumph over one's enemy couldn't be wished for. What could one desire better than to make your enemy feel small, and acknowledge how much nobler you are than he?"

"I should like," said Ted, with feeling, "to make these beggars outside feel small. We've drifted into a curious talk, considering our situation."

"Not a bit of it," said Alec. "I quite agree with you, Miss Ethel. I must go and relieve Leigh now, and you relieve me in a couple of hours, Ted. Miss Woodburn, I'm glad we've had this talk, and I sha'n't forget it."

"And I must go back to father now," said Ethel, whereupon Ted turned to accompany her.

The colonel was fast asleep, breathing easily.

"Good-bye for a few hours, Ethel!" said the ensign; and added in a low, hesitating tone, "You're a saint."

"I! Oh, Ted, you little know me--you and Jim. It's easy to forgive one who can no longer injure you, but it's hard to live your ordinary life with a person who wishes to injure you, or who has done so, and who hates and despises you. What a terrible prig you must think me, Ted! I know I can't feel like that myself. I only wish I could."

Ted glanced guiltily round. There was no one in the room save Colonel Woodburn, and he was sleeping, undisturbed by their whispering. Seizing the girl's hand he kissed it, awkwardly and nervously, then hastily dropping it blushed furiously.

"There!" exclaimed the ensign jerkily. "I knew I should do it some day.

I'm sure Jim never did that."

"Oh--?"

Ethel's face was also flushed, and she looked radiantly charming as she gave utterance to the long-drawn, quizzing exclamation, and a new light broke in upon Ted.

"What! Old Jim?" he asked. "Well, who'd have thought it? Lucky beggar!

It's a dainty little hand."

"Silence, sir! I must ask you to leave the room."

"Good-bye, then, little sister!"

CHAPTER X

Hope and Despair

Two more weary days passed inside the fortified house. Numerous attacks had been made, and though they had invariably failed, some damage had been inflicted on the besieged. As the assailants were retiring in disorder after one of these futile attempts, a big, light-featured man in scanty costume sidled up to the house, waving a sealed letter.

"Quick! let me in!" he shouted. "I'm a sepoy of the Guide Corps!"

The door was hurriedly thrown open, but not before the besiegers had divined the man's intentions, and bullets whizzed perilously near his head before he was safe inside. Espying our hero, the Guide handed him the letter, and Ted recognized the fellow as Faiz Talab, his brother's orderly.

He opened the note, and his face glowed. He whistled, then shouted in great excitement, "Hurrah! the Guides are coming!"

"The Guides!" echoed Sir Arthur, and a joyful light came into Ethel's eyes. Faiz Talab, the Pathan, grinned gleefully.

The letter, dated from Manghur, thirty-two miles away, ran as follows:--

"We were starting for Delhi when the Aurungpore news arrived, and as we pass so close I obtained permission to detach 120 men to your aid. A greater number cannot be spared, as Delhi is all-important. So, old man, tell Ethel I'll soon be with her."

The great news quickly spread from one end of the big house to the other. Food was prepared for the bearer of good tidings, and Faiz Talab, Yusufzai, was feted as he had never been before. He described the route by which the Guides would come, and stated when they might be expected.

"Russell Sahib will be here to-morrow, and by the beard of the Prophet, we shall teach these curs a lesson!" he concluded.

"You seem to know this district well," said the Commissioner. "You have been here before," and the man grinned slyly.

"I was a youngster, sahib, when first I saw Aurungpore. We Yusufzais came down at night and lifted the cattle and raided the villages, and we laughed at Ranjit Singh's army that followed, for we knew that we had a good start, and the Sikhs would not venture into the hills. Ah, those were the good old days! Yet people say they have come again, and that Delhi is a richer town to loot than Aurungpore."

The Yusufzai smacked his lips at the prospect. Here, thought Ted, was another sample of the robbers that apparently formed the backbone of the Guide Corps. The brightness of the prospect revealed by Faiz Talab's message was fast fading away, and as the garrison had time to think it over there came a diminution of enthusiasm. Ted voiced the general opinion when he abruptly asked:

"But of what use is a single company against such swarms of rebels and budmashes, even if they are to be trusted?"

"But we are the Guides, sahib," said Faiz Talab proudly.

That self-same day came tidings that more than destroyed the hopes raised by Jim's letter. Into Aurungpore marched the 138th Bengal Native Infantry, rebels and murderers, flushed with success. They had shot down their officers and looted the treasury, to guard which had been their duty. Dire was the consternation caused by the arrival of the new contingent, and great was the dismay.

But when, next morning, our friends noticed that the six 9-pounders of the fort were being moved by certain of the new-comers into a position whence their place of refuge could be bombarded, dismay gave place to utter despair. The sepoys of the 193rd did not understand the handling of these guns, and had regarded them with some awe as fearsome weapons that might turn against themselves. But the 138th counted a couple of hundred Sikhs amongst their number.

Now the Sikh maharaja, Ranjit Singh, had maintained a splendid force of artillery, and many of the Sikh sepoys, who had enlisted under British colours, had previously been gunners in the army of the Khalsa,[6] and they saw at once how the little garrison might be speedily destroyed. A few hours' search brought to light a quantity of material that had not been demolished in the explosion. All day long the exploration went on, and plenty of ammunition to feed the guns was soon stored close at hand.

[6] The title of the Sikh Confederacy.

The time of the expected arrival of the Guides drew nigh.

"Better that they should not come," Major Munro wearily opined. "They would only share our fate. What chance would they have against 1500 trained soldiers?"

"Do you think they will turn back, sir, when they hear of the arrival of this fresh lot?" Ted enquired in an anxious tone.

"I certainly do. It would be foolish--idiotic--to attempt a rescue in the face of such odds. Were I in your brother's place I should feel it my duty to government, as well as to my men, not to throw them away on so helpless an undertaking. It will be very hard for him to leave his affianced wife in such dreadful peril, but that is one of a soldier's risks. His men belong to the government, not to him, and he has no right to risk them where there is no chance. We are short enough of men as it is."

Ethel, standing by, grew pale as she thought of the danger to her beloved. Her own peril, and even her father's, were forgotten for the moment.

"Oh, Major Munro," she exclaimed, "let us hope that they will turn back!

They cannot do us good by throwing their own lives away!"