been to him, and that he would not think it unkind of me, knowing as
he would that I had been heavily on duty. But, all the same, it was
hard for the poor fellow lying wounded.

I paused there, and then repeated the words in a strange, puzzled
way--"Poor fellow lying wounded--poor fellow lying wounded."

And then, with the intention of sitting up, I moved my arm.

No; I only tried to move it, and felt a horrible twinge of pain. Then I
tried to raise my head, but it felt like so much lead, and the effort
made me feel sick.

But my mind was active now, and as I said in a whisper, "Why, I must be
wounded," the scene of our last gallop came back to my mind with vivid
force, and I saw it all, and even, as it were, felt the sensation of the
mad gallop, and the shock of our collision with the sowars, even to the
curious sensation of galloping along with our men firing at us, and then
awakening to the fact that I had fierce-looking troopers on either side,
and then of one cutting at me, and another interposing to save my life.

Yes; I could recollect that clearly, and I recalled, too, the poor
fellow falling headlong from his horse.

Was that I?

It seemed as if it must have been; but in a confused way I argued that,
if it had, I could not have sat on horseback and seen him fall.

I was still puzzling about it with a _feeling_ upon me that my brain
would not work properly, when a purdah was thrust on one side, and a
tall, grave, grey-bearded man in white and gold came slowly in. His
voluminous turban was of white muslin, and his long snowy garment
descended almost to his feet.

I felt, as he gravely fixed his eyes upon me, and advanced to where I
lay, that this must be a kind of dream, and that possibly the sun had
beat so hotly upon my helmet that it had had some effect upon my brain.
Consequently, all I had to do was to be still, and then all would come
clear.

But the dream became to me wonderfully real as the tall grave Mussulman
went down on one knee and laid his hand upon my head, the touch feeling
cool and pleasant, while, as he saw my eyes fixed upon his inquiringly,
he said in very good English--

"The young sahib is better?"

"Better?" I replied in a curiously faint voice--"better? Have I been
ill?"

"Don't try to talk. Not ill, sahib--wounded."

"Oh!" I ejaculated. "Then I was hurt in that charge. Where is Captain
Brace?"

"Don't talk; you are weak. Let me look at your wound."

As he sp