“Oh yes, I think I do, Gil. I have studied you pretty well. You were thinking that we shall be beaten, after listening to Dost’s account of the rising at this town. Ah, if I had only known of this when we met that regiment of sowars! Why, Gil, they must be the scoundrels who murdered their European officers here.”
“I’m afraid so,” I said.
“Then we must strike, and strike hard now, Gil. I am not unmerciful, but for the sake of home, and our English kindred, we must be stern as well as just. Come, you are better already.”
“No,” I said gloomily, “I am horribly troubled.”
“About what?”
“Nussoor.”
“Ah! where your father’s regiment is stationed?”
“Yes. My mother and sister are there. Oh, Brace, if my father has been surprised as these people were here, and—”
I stopped short—the words choked me.
“My dear Gil!” cried Brace, gently, “I see now. Yes; such thoughts are enough to chill any one. I had not thought of them. But come, come; we have enough to do to fight with real troubles. You must not build up imaginary ones. Your father is a good soldier, I have heard, and his regiment is noted for its discipline. Let us trust that he has not been surprised, but had warnings of the trouble to come, and has placed your mother and sister and the other ladies of his station in safety.”