“What is it, doctor?” cried the Commissioner impatiently, as Dr Tighe ran up the steps towards him at a most unwonted pace.
“It’s a boy—as fine a child as ever I saw in my life—and both likely to do well,” was the gasping response.
“What in the world do you mean by coming and telling me such a thing as that at this moment, sir?” demanded Mr Burgrave, whose habitual calmness was fast vanishing under the strain of the events of the night. “Are you aware that the enemy will probably be inside the fort in a few minutes, and that I am just about to give the order to fire?” He leaned over the sand-bags again to listen to the tramp of advancing feet.
“I tell you, it’ll make all the difference in the world to the men!” cried the doctor. “For Heaven’s sake, exhibit some interest, even if you don’t feel it, or they will credit you with ill-wishing the child.”
“Ill-wishing? Nonsense! No one need wish the poor little beggar worse luck than to come into the world at such a peculiarly inopportune moment.”
“Inopportune? Why, he brings good luck with him. Doesn’t he, Ressaldar?”
“It is the best of luck, sahib,” answered Ghulam Rasul, with a complacent smile. “Will your honour bear the salaams of the regiment to the Memsahib, and entreat her to name an hour when it will be fitting for a deputation representing all ranks to pay their respects to the Baba Sahib?”
“The fellow talks as though we had a lifetime before us!” grumbled the Commissioner morosely. “Surely they are within easy range now, Ressaldar?”
Ghulam Rasul advanced to the parapet, and peered narrowly over the sand-bags which capped it. “I know not how they come on so steadily, sahib,” he said hesitatingly, when he stood erect again. “Perhaps it might be well for your honour——” but he was interrupted by a frantic shout from both gateway turrets at the same moment.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire! The Colonel Sahib!”