'"Bob—dearest, kiss me once again. If I am to die, I shall die worthy of you."
'"And I shall not survive you long, my darling; but there is yet time for us to be united. Come, sir, we are ready," said he to the clergyman, who, like all the rest of us, looked on with strange and haggard eyes.
'The girl's pale cheek flushed, but she was almost too weak to speak, for mental joy seemed to struggle for mastery with physical pain. What a strange sight she presented, lying there, her white bridal dress all stained with her blood, her beautiful dark brown hair all dishevelled, and looking so wan, so helpless, yet so resigned to die!
'Bob Acharn took her hand, and the chaplain proceeded with the ceremony. Thrice the quivering lips of Olive parted ere she could articulate "yes," and when she did so, it was the last word she uttered; and then a little foam came over her lips, for she was in her parting agony. And as he concluded the ceremony the sobs of the chaplain, who hid his face in his surplice, were echoed by those of Acharn, and the old judge her father.'
'A terrible story!' exclaimed Annabelle.
'And Acharn—what became of him?' asked Mary.
'He fought against the mutineers, with what animus you may imagine. Seeking death daily, he seemed to have a charmed life, till the 5th of September, when the enemy made their last serious and desperate assault, and he was blown to pieces when they exploded a mine near Apthorp's post, and strewed the garden around it with corpses.'
Anxious that Fotheringhame should confer with the general about Cecil, Mary had listened to this Indian story, though she heard it for the first time, with some impatience.
'I do believe,' she said, laughingly, to Annabelle, 'that when the dear old man can't get an audience he tells some of his Indian stories to himself!'
'And now, Sir Piers,' said Fotheringhame, influenced by a glance from Mary, the import of which he read aright, 'about the matter which brought me here, and the subject of your many letters to Dick Freeport and myself—what is to be done about my friend Cecil? We can't leave him to risk life and limb in a wretched affair like the Servian war.'