"Are you strong enough, darling?" Polly said, anxiously.
"Yes, it cannot do me any harm, Polly. I know the worst; please let me see how it was."
Polly in silence fetched the paper, folded it down to the place, and gave it to me. It was the account of that disastrous sortie made from Lucknow just before the siege began. In the account of the retreat of the little column back to the town, during which so many noble fellows fell, were the words: "Among the little troop of cavalry, composed principally of officers either on the staff, or who had found their way to Lucknow, where their regiments had mutinied, Lieutenant Desborough, of the Lancers, greatly distinguished himself, until, heading a gallant charge to check the pursuing rebels, he fell. He had already, earlier in the day, been wounded, but not so badly as to prevent his keeping his seat. In common with nearly every one who fell, it was impossible, from the close pursuit of the rebels, to bring off his body."
Two or three times I read through the paragraph and then turned round wearily to the wall. This was the end then. My Percy was dead, and there was not even the consolation of knowing that he had been laid tenderly in some quiet churchyard, there to wait, under that burning Indian sky, till the time should come, when we should again meet, and never part more. But now I could not even think of him so; I had not even that consolation; I could not think of him as lying anywhere; his body had fallen into the hands of the rebels, to be hacked and mutilated, before they left it to the jackals and wild dogs. I could not think of him at all, it was too horrible—Oh, Percy, Percy!
The next day Ada came down to see me. Grieved and shocked as she was, the dear girl had thought of me, and of my sorrow—greater even than hers—and so had driven down in her brougham to see me.
Polly left us to ourselves, and Ada cried with me, and talked with me over her dead brother, till our tears ceased to flow so fast, and we were both comforted.
The next day I was about the house again, and the next Polly went to London to buy mourning for me. Not for herself, although she had intended to do so, but I would not allow it. I pointed out to her that Harry would sail in little over three months now, and that it was absolutely necessary that our original plan should be carried out, and that she should be married before he started. I showed her how inconvenient delay would be; for that we had given notice to give up the house at that time, and I knew the landlord had already found a tenant for it, and that therefore there would be nowhere for her to be married from. Consequently, that our plans must hold good as before intended, and it would be a useless expense for her to go into mourning.
Polly endeavoured at first to argue that her marriage should be postponed; but finding that I would not hear of it, and seeing that it really would be very inconvenient, she gave way. However, when she came back from town, I found that she had bought a black dress and bonnet for herself, to wear until her marriage.
Charley Horton came that evening. I did not see him, but Polly did, and had a long talk with him. Polly told me afterwards that directly he came in and had inquired after me, he said—
"Well, Polly, all we can do is to try hard to make your poor sister as happy as we can. Her loss will in one way be your gain, Polly; for she would have gone back with her husband to India, and you would not have seen her for years. Now, you will be always able to keep her with you, as of course she will live with us, you know."