The officer uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Well, sir," the senior of them said, as he held out his hand to Stanley, "I congratulate you on having got away, whoever you are; but I am bound to say that, if it were not for your speech, I should not have believed you; for I have never seen anyone look less like an Englishman than you do."
"My name is Stanley Brooke, sir. I am the son of the late Captain Brooke, of the 15th Native Regiment."
"Then I should know you," one of the other officers said, "for I knew your father; and I remember seeing your name in the list of officers killed, at Ramoo, and wondered if it could be the lad I knew five or six years ago."
"I recollect you, Captain Cooke," Stanley said. "Your regiment was at Agra, when we were there."
"Right you are; and I am heartily glad that the news of your death was false," and he shook hands cordially with Stanley.
"And who is your companion?" the major asked. "Is he an Englishman, also?"
"No, sir; he is a native. He is a most faithful fellow. He has acted as my guide, all the way down from the point we started from, twenty miles from Ava. I could never have accomplished it without his aid for, although I speak Burmese well enough to pass anywhere, my face is so different in shape from theirs that, if I were looked at closely in the daylight, I should be suspected at once. I could never have got here without his aid."
"How was it that he came to help you, sir?" Major Pemberton asked. "As far as we can see, the Burmese hate us like poison. Even when they are wounded to death, they will take a last shot at any soldiers marching past them."
"I happened to save his life from a leopard," Stanley said, "and, truly, he has shown his gratitude."