The one he pointed to was the first in the row. He was a tall, powerful fellow. His teeth were set, and his face wore a defiant look.
“Yes,” she answered firmly.
As she spoke, the man’s eyes met hers. He recognised her, and an expression of ferocious hatred crossed his face. The man was Moghul Singh.
“Will you remain here and see justice done, and your vengeance satisfied?” Harper asked of her.
“No,” she replied.
He led her away, but they had not got very far before the earth trembled with a violent shock. They both turned. The drums were beating, the British flags were waving, the air was filled with smoke and riven limbs.
“You are revenged, Haidee,” Harper whispered.
“Yes,” she answered. “Let us go.”
* * * * * * *
In one of the most beautiful of Devonshire villages, Lieutenant-Colonel Harper, now retired from the service, dwells with his wife and family. The beautiful Haidee, thoroughly Anglicised, in the character of Mrs. Harper, is the pride of the county for miles around. She is loved, respected, and honoured.