“Is this story true, Russell?” demanded Munro.
“It’s true, sir; but you oughtn’t to be hard on Tynan. He was plucky enough most of the time.”
“John Lawrence shall know about this if I live,” said the major with unwonted emphasis. “All England shall know about it.”
“But you won’t say anything about Tynan, sir?” Ted asked.
“No, that wouldn’t do. We must treat him as dead—ignore his presence in the fort altogether.”
Colonel Woodburn’s condition was hopeful. The bullet had been successfully extracted, and he was doing well. He sent for Ted, and made him tell the story from beginning to end. Our hero was getting rather tired of it, and Ethel was merciless. She would not allow him to cut out the least incident. The colonel was mightily pleased.
“Do you know,” the ensign observed as they quitted the invalid’s room, “in the midst of the crowd I noticed the three fanatics who set on us in the bazaar. I expect the poor beggars are blown to bits by now.”
“I suppose there is no chance,” Miss Woodburn asked, “that that poor boy Tynan has survived?”
“I’m afraid not. I think the havildar and I are the only survivors, but of course there was no time to make certain.”
“Poor Tynan!” she murmured, more to herself than to her companion. “I have always felt so sorry for the boy since he joined us.”