“Why?” said the doctor, quickly.
“The sahib doctor can trust me,” said the man, quietly. “It is dark. I am going to light a candle. I think the barracks are quite empty, but some of the budmashes might be about seeking to rob, and they would see the light.”
He closed the door, and the darkness for the moment was intense, while my heart beat with a heavy throb as I wondered whether, after all, there was treachery intended, and Brace’s words rang in my ears—“Who can ever trust a Hindu again?”
The silence was awful in the moments which followed the closing of the door. There was a faint rustling sound followed by a sharp click click, which I knew was the cocking of a rifle or pistol; then came a scraping sound as of a sword-edge touching the wall—sounds which told me that my suspicions were shared; but, directly after, they were dispelled, for there was a crackling noise and a faint line of light; a repetition of the scratching, accompanied by a few sparks, and, at the third repetition, there was a flash which lit up the dark face of Dost and his white turban; then the match began to burn, and we could see his fingers look transparent as he sheltered the flame and held it to a piece of candle, which directly after lit up the mess-room, one wreck now of broken glass, shattered chairs, and ragged curtain and cloth.
I saw all that at a glance, but as my eyes wandered about the room, they rested upon a couch at the side, upon which lay something covered completely by a tablecloth, whose whiteness was horribly stained.
I shuddered, and tried to turn my eyes away, but I could not, and involuntarily I followed Brace and the doctor, as Dost went to the couch.
“Better keep away, Gil, lad,” said Brace, in a low voice, full of emotion. “You will have enough horrors forced upon you without seeking them out.”
I made no answer, but I did not retire, as Brace softly raised the cloth from the face of our commanding officer, and I saw that, though disfigured by a couple of terrible cuts, it was quite placid; and my heart warmed—in my sorrow for my poor friend—toward the Hindu servant who had so reverently treated his remains.
Then a thrill ran through me, for as Brace stood holding the cloth raised, and Dost held the candle for us to see, the doctor uttered an ejaculation, pushed Brace rudely aside, and then laid his rifle on the ground, and began to tear open the light cotton garment the major wore, while his busy hands played, in the dim light, about his breast.
“Here, Dost,” he whispered, “put down the light. Tear this cloth into narrow bandages. Vincent, lad, take out my pocket-book from my breast, and open it.”