"Waiting is always hard," said Mr. Gilchrist, sighing.
"Yes. Papa had to do it the very first time when he was in an engagement. It was in some Indian skirmish with native troops, and papa's company was one held in reserve to pour in fresh when the rebels were tired, and meantime to hold a pass and prevent them from moving round to the rear of the English. I believe," continued she, with a smile, "that I am expressing myself badly, like an ignorant girl, but perhaps you understand what I mean?"
"Yes, madam, your meaning is perfectly clear to me."
"Well, papa found it so hard to stand still, with nothing to do, that he took up a bit of stick and whittled it to keep himself steady. When the call to charge was sounded, he put the half-peeled stick and the handful of chips into his pocket; he never knew why, or even that he had done so, until mamma found them there long afterwards, and asked him why he kept such things. Then the sight of them called up the whole scene to him more plainly than anything else, he said: the dark-faced rebels, with evil looks and angry eyes; the glare and flashing guns and smother of smoke; and the poor creatures shot down before his face, and lying howling and bleeding on the ground, among plunging horses and shouting men; and some lying still who had been so raging just before, and the set determined look upon the Englishmen.
"Mamma has those chips now, put away among her treasures, and shows them to us sometimes on a Sunday evening, when we have been reading the Bible to her, and talking about being resolute, and such things."
"Your story reminds me of the poet's words, 'Those also serve, who only stand and wait,'" said Mr. Gilchrist.
"Yes, does it not," cried she, her sweet face kindling. "I do so like those lines."
Mr. Brudenel here returned from his morning duties, and invited Gilchrist to take a turn in the verandah with him.
"No news yet, I am sorry to say," said he.
Mr. Gilchrist turned to Mrs. Brudenel, "I will try to 'stand and wait,' patiently," said he.