"The remains were all buried at the spot where they were found; and a stone was erected, some months afterwards, by the officers of his regiment; recording the deaths of Major Lindsay, his wife and child, at that spot."
Two days later Harry took his place with Abdool on the north coach and, after spending a day at Norwich, drove in a post chaise to Merdford. Here he heard that Parley House was two miles distant and, without alighting, drove on there. It was a fine house, standing in a well-wooded park. On a footman answering the bell, Harry handed him his card, "Major H. Lindsay."
He was shown into a library and, a minute later, a gentleman entered. He was about sixty years of age, of the best type of English squire; tall, inclined to be portly, with genial face and hearty voice.
"We are of the same name, I see, Major Lindsay."
"We are, sir; and, strange as it may appear to you, of the same blood."
"Indeed!" he said, shaking hands with his visitor. "What is the relationship? It must be a distant one, for I was not aware that I had any connection of your rank in the army.
"By the way, now that I think of it, I have seen, in the reports of our campaigns in India, the name of a Captain Lindsay frequently mentioned."
"I am the man, sir."
"I am glad to know that one who has so distinguished himself is a relation of mine, however distant."
"It is not so very distant, sir. In point of fact, I am your nephew."