Weeks wore on. The force of the besiegers was getting weaker, and their ammunition was all but expended. Reinforcements and a powerful siege-train were daily expected, but still they came not. There was much sickness in the camp, and the whole energies of the healthy were taxed to the utmost to minister to the wants of and amuse the sick.
In this duty there was one who stood out with individual distinctness. This was Haidee, whose exertions on behalf of those who were not able to help themselves were extraordinary. She flitted through the hospital at all hours. She comforted the sick; she soothed the dying; she helped the strong. No wonder that she won the love and good wishes of everyone. The heart of many a man in the camp fluttered when in her presence; and officers and men vied with each other in paying her the greatest attention. Her beauty—her romantic history—her devotion, won upon all. More than one officer, whose heart and hand were free, ventured to woo her; but she turned a deaf ear to everybody.
There was one for whom she pined—where was he? Night and day she thought of him. He was, indeed, her star—her only light. She was silent and patient; she uttered no complaint. She was content to wait for what the future might bring. That future seemed at present dark and uncertain, but she did not mourn. She wasted no time in useless repining; she was hopeful. Her reward came at last.
One morning the camp heard with unspeakable joy notes of music. They were the welcome strains of a soul-inspiriting march played by an English band. The reinforcements had arrived. Coming up from the Grand Trunk Road the long lines could be seen. The white helmets and flashing bayonets of British troops marching to the assistance of their comrades, and pledged to reduce the stronghold of the saucy enemy.
As the fresh troops marched in, the reception accorded them was enthusiastic in the extreme. The excitement was immense. Such cheering, such shaking of hands, such greetings.
As the newly-arrived officers were moving towards the quarters assigned to them, a man suddenly rushed out of a tent, and seizing the hands of one of the officers, exclaimed, in an excited tone—
“God bless you, old fellow! This is an unexpected pleasure.”
The man was Walter Gordon, the officer was Lieutenant Harper. The friends had met once again—met upon the battlefield.
Their last meeting had been sad, their last parting still more sad. But, as they greeted each other now, each had an instinctive feeling that, after having escaped so many dangers, they met now only to part again when happier times had dawned.
When Gordon could drag his friend away, he commenced to ply him with questions; but Harper interrupted him with an impatient gesture, and unable longer to restrain his feeling, exclaimed—