“Neither,” said the colonel, quietly. “It is one of our guests—Lieutenant Sir Mark Frayne.”
Dick’s jaw dropped, and his eyes dilated widely, as the colonel now walked sharply away.
Chapter Thirty.
The Echo of the Ball.
The barrack yard was thronged as the colonel hurried out, thankful that the terrible disaster had not been made awful by any loss of life; and for the next hour he was one of the most active in trying to allay the alarm, and soothing the frightened girls and their chaperones, who were now the occupants of the quarters where the various officers’ wives were doing their best to play hostess to the torn and dishevelled beings who had sought shelter beneath their roof.
As for the square in which the marquee had been erected, that remained a perfect chaos till the morning, the colonel having given orders that nothing should be touched as soon as the fire had been extinguished and the escaping gas securely stopped where the great pipe—not the original cause of the mischief, but that which had been broken by the explosion—stood amongst a heap of charred relics of the supper; while, to insure that such articles of jewellery as had been lost in the terrible struggle should be in safety, sentries were posted, and soon after the barrack yard was cleared of all save those who had special business there.
Hours elapsed before the last carriage rolled away with its scared occupants; for in the cases of those who had come from a distance the servants had not been ordered to attend till two and three o’clock.
At last, though, there was peace, and the officers of the 205th gathered in the mess-room to partake of a cup of coffee and a cigar before seeking their beds, as, utterly fagged out, they sat for some time talking over the events of the evening.