'I have only two here—the Sahib Macgregor and the Mehm Sahib Heron (her brat is not worth counting); there they are in the garden.'
Bill laid a hand on his tulwar.
'Not so fast, my friend,' said Buktawur, with a grin, 'for she is to be my wife; and if matters go hard with me I may want the Sahib's head.'
'So they live yet!' thought Bill, as he entered the garden of the fort, but dared not approach them, though looking sharply at them, and viewing the strong defences of the place, and the avenues that led to it.
In a kind of alcove, excavated out of the solid rock of the fort, Mrs. Heron—clad now partly like a native woman—was seated with her baby in her lap, and near her Lieutenant Macgregor, as if for companionship or the sympathy he dared scarcely to manifest. He was in the rags of his uniform, and both looked haggard and wasted with the anxieties and troubles they had undergone.
Bill drew near her, but at that moment a Sepoy came to Buktawur for orders.
'Don't start, Mrs. Heron,' he whispered, 'or seem to see or hear me—I'm Billy Brierly, of your husband's company. He is well and unwounded, and counts every hour till he can rescue you.'
Bill then drew back, for now Buktawur Sing came hastily and suspiciously forward. Mrs. Heron looked up. Astonishment, gratitude and hope were expressed in her eyes by tears, but not a ray of joy shone in them; and honest Bill Brierly felt his heart wrung as he looked on the poor lady, and saw now that the baby she held in her lap was dead!
He mentioned this to Buktawur Sing.
'Kootch purwanni' ('Never mind'), replied the latter, laughing to see her bending over it in the depth of her misery, and playing with his little white hands and flaxen curls.