'And right you were—right you were!' said Sir Piers, emphatically. 'Poor John Garth! I shall never forget his fine conduct on the morning we stormed the hill-fort of the Nabob All Nazir-jung (or the victorious in war), as he boasted himself, in the Doab between the Jhelum and the Chenab. It was a strange affair,' he continued, relating an anecdote as well known to Mrs. Garth as to himself, yet to which she listened with a kindling eye, 'we sunk our half-sap by degrees and pushed it close to the outworks, covering our men by gabions, sand-bags, and mantelets, and the assault was to take place an hour before gunfire, or daybreak. I remember how lovely the night was! A breeze stole up the hillside and stirred the golden bells of the scented baubul-trees; the moon in her silver glory, like a round shield, was mirrored in the bosom of the Jhelum, and the stormers were beginning to creep into the advanced trench, where we could see their bayonets glittering and their white puggarees behind the shade of the gabions. Just as Jack Garth and I were having a farewell cheroot and drain of brandy-pawnee, Drake, of the Bengal Infantry, who had been detailed to lead the assault, came into our tent looking pale as a sheeted ghost.
'Now Drake was no coward, he had been under fire many times in open ground; but somehow he felt that to lead a forlorn hope was a very different thing; in short, almost certain death; and having led a wild, terrible, irregular, and most irreligious life, his whole soul had suddenly become filled with an uncontrollable dread and dismay of the impending future.
'He told us of the strange emotion that possessed him—he seemed somehow not to care of making a secret of it, to us at least—and Garth instantly and cheerfully offered to take his place, and Drake was to join the covering force. The brigadier commanding permitted the exchange; the place was carried by storm at a wild and headlong rush; Jack Garth, leading the escalade like a hero, reached the heart of the fort untouched, while poor Drake, after the affair was deemed entirely over, and the firing had ceased, was killed by a random shot that came no one knew precisely from where.'
By the time the general had ended his anecdote, and betaken him to the stables to inspect the hock sinews of Mary's favourite pad, of which Pastern, the groom, had made some evil report, the duet was over.
Mrs. Garth had detected the mutual tenderness in tone and expression of eye as it ended, and when the singers left the piano, she resolved to lose no time in seeking to avert, if she could, the trouble which she feared was impending. Not that she loved Hew Montgomerie, but she thought alone of Mary's interests and the wishes of Sir Piers, her oldest, kindest, and best of friends.
But now, when Cecil Falconer approached her, she thought, as Sir Piers had done more than once:
'What is there in this young fellow's face that touches, that interests me? Where have I seen that look before? In India, I doubt not.'
'I heard the general's anecdote of your husband, Mrs. Garth, even while we were singing,' said he, bending over the old lady's chair; 'he must have been a fine old officer, and I can assure you that his memory is still fresh in the regiment.'
Her face brightened with genuine pleasure as he said this, and her eyes filled with tears.
'You see the relic I wear of him,' said the widow, placing her hand affectionately upon a brooch she wore on her heart, a silver sphinx, which had whilom been a regimental ornament, but which she would not have exchanged for the regal brooch of Lorne; 'and now, if you will come with me, I shall show you his portrait.'