oke he laid his hand upon my left arm, but changed his mind, and
his hands were busy about my head, which I found now was confined by a
bandage.

This being removed, he gave me a little pain by touching one spot just
above my temple, which was extremely tender, and then, taking out a pair
of scissors, he snipped away a little hair closely; after this he drew a
piece of fine white cloth from his pocket, he poured some brown strongly
scented fluid from a little flask to moisten it, and laid the little wet
patch on my head, with the result that it tingled sharply.

"Hurt?" he said quietly.

"Yes; a little."

"It will soon go off."

As he spoke he very carefully bound the linen bandage he had removed
back in its place.

"Is it a sword-cut?" I asked.

"No, sahib; a bullet struck your helmet, and made a bad place within.
It is not very serious, and if you are quiet, it will soon be well."

"But where is Dr Danby? Why does he not come?" I asked; then, in a
startled way, "He is not killed?"

The grey-bearded old fellow merely shook his head and repeated his
injunction that I should not talk, and now began examining my left arm,
which was firmly bandaged, and began to pain me severely at his touch.

"Is that a bullet wound?" I said in a whisper, for I felt that I must
resign myself to my position, and, after the first shock, I began to
feel rather proud that I had been wounded, for I felt not the slightest
inclination to stir.

"No," he said, as he removed bandage after bandage, "a cut from a tulwar
just below the shoulder. You will be brave, and bear what I do without
being faint? Yes," he added, with a grave smile, "you English sahibs
are brave. Hurt?"

"Hurt? Yes," I said, with a wince. "Is it a big cut?"

"Yes," he said softly; "a big cut--a bad cut, but it is beautiful, and
will soon grow up again."

"Are you going to put any of that smarting stuff on?" I asked.

"Oh no. It wants nothing but to be left to grow well with bandages
round it. These fresh bandages. Young healthy flesh soon heals."

"Are you a surgeon?" I asked.

"Yes; and learned to be one in London," he continued, with a smile.
"But now you must be still and not talk."

I was not sorry to be forbidden to speak, for it was an effort, and I
lay watching him, feeling very sick and faint, while he dressed my
wound; and then I felt nothing till I found myself staring at the grave
face of the eastern surgeon, as he lightly passed