“Walter,” said Harper, “the last time we parted was at the very commencement of this horrible mutiny. I little thought then that we should meet again; but we part now, and the chances of our seeing each other any more on this earth are remote indeed. Though, if I should survive, and can render aid to Flora Meredith, if she lives, it shall be done. But before I go, I exact a solemn promise from you, that while life is in your body you will protect Haidee, and if you should both manage to escape, you will never lose sight of her.”
“I give the promise, old fellow. God bless you,” was Walter’s answer, in a voice that was choked with emotion.
Harper turned from his friend to bid farewell to Haidee. How can that parting be described? There was no passionate wailing—no useless tears. She was a true woman, and however powerful her love might be, she knew that it was a duty to sacrifice all personal feelings where so many lives were at stake. She hung around his neck for a few brief moments; she pressed a kiss of pure love upon his lips, and then released him. In both their hearts there was that nameless feeling of ineffable sorrow that has no interpretation.
“Light of my eyes, joy of my soul, go,” she said. “Into the dust Haidee will bow her head, for happiness can never more be hers.” One more pressure of the hand, one more meeting of the lips, and Harper crouched down, and was making his way across the compound.
It was midnight, and the night was dark. The enemy’s fire had almost ceased; and as the crouching form disappeared, many were the fervent prayers uttered on Harper’s behalf, that he would succeed in his mission.
The morning came, and then the night again, and the next morning, and so on for several mornings, the defenders holding out bravely. Meanwhile the Nana Sahib was chafing with rage. He had not counted upon such a stubborn resistance. The indomitable pluck of these English was something that passed his comprehension. It irritated him beyond measure. The city over which he wished to rule was in a state of turmoil through it. His army was being shattered. Some of his best Sepoy officers had been killed by the fire from the defences; and, to make matters worse, cholera had broken out amongst the troops, and raged violently. Driven to desperation, he held counsel with his staff.
“What can we do to subdue this people?” he asked of Azimoolah.
“Nothing to subdue them,” was the answer. And for the first time in his life, perhaps, Azimoolah spoke the truth.
“What shall we do to crush them, then?” the Nana went on; “I would hack them to mince-meat, if I could get near enough, but that seems impossible.”