His sympathy broke down her pride. She sobbed as though her heart would yield beneath the strain. For a little while there was no sound in the room but Winifred’s plaints, while ever and anon the walls shook with the crash of the cannonade and the bursting of shells.
Ahmed Ullah, Moulvie of Fyzabad, had a quick ear for the arrival of the native officer of cavalry from Lucknow.
“Peace be with thee, brother!” said he, after a shrewd glance at the travel-worn and blood-stained man and horse. “Thou has ridden far and fast. What news hast thou of the Jehad,[14] and how fares it at Lucknow?”
“With thee be peace!” was the reply. “We fought the Nazarenes yesterday at a place called Chinhut, and sent hundreds of the infidel dogs to the fifth circle of Jehannum. The few who escaped our swords are penned up in the Residency, and its walls are now crumbling before our guns. By the tomb of Nizam-ud-din, the unbelievers must have fallen ere the present hour.”
The moulvie’s wicked eyes sparkled.
“Praise be to Allah and his Prophet forever!” he cried. “How came this thing to pass?”
“My regiment took the lead,” said the rissaldar, proudly. “We had long chafed under the commands of the huzoors. At last we rose and made short work of our officers. You see here—” and he touched a rent in his right side, “where one of them tried to stop the thrust that ended him. But I clave him to the chin, the swine-eater, and when Larrence-sahib attacked us at Chinhut we chased him over the Canal and through the streets.”
“Wao! wao! This is good hearing! Wast thou sent by some of the faithful to summon me, brother?”