d it, seated in a
palanquin, borne by four Hindoos, came the widow of the deceased. A
large black veil thrown over her head, almost enveloped her person.
Her head was bent upon her bosom, and she seemed to weep bitterly. We
followed behind them to the burial-place; but, before the service was
half concluded, the heavens overcast, and a storm, such as I had never
witnessed, burst over our heads, and hurled its fury upon the graves.
The rain poured down in a fierce and impetuous torrent--but you know
not, in this country, what a torrent of rain is. The thunder seemed
tearing heaven in twain. It rolled, reverbed, and pealed, and rattled
with its tremendous voice over the graves of the dead, as though it
were the outbursting of eternity--the first blast of the archangel's
trumpet announcing the coming judgment! The incessant lightnings
flashed through the air, like spirits winged with flame, and awakening
the dead.

The Sepoys fled in terror, and hastened to the city, to escape the
terrible fury of the storm. Even those who had accompanied my friend's
body fled with them, before the earth was covered over the dead that
they had followed to the grave. But still, by the side of the
officer's grave, and unmindful of the storm, stood his poor widow. She
refused to leave the spot till the last sod was placed upon her
husband's bosom. My heart bled for her. Within three yards from her
stood a veteran English serjeant, who, with the Hindoos that bore her
palanquin, were all that remained in the burial-place.

Common humanity prompted me to offer her a place in my carriage back
to the city. I inquired of the serjeant who the deceased was. He
informed me that he was a young Scotch officer--that his marriage had
offended his friends--that they had denounced him in consequence--that
he had enlisted--and that the officers of the regiment which he had
first joined, had procured him an ensigncy in a corps of Sepoys, but
that he had died, leaving the young widow who wept over his grave, a
stranger in a strange land. And, added the serjeant, "a braver fellow
never set foot upon the ground."

When the last sod had been placed upon the grave, I approached the
young widow. I respectfully offered to convey her and the serjeant to
the city in my carriage, as the violence of the storm increased.

At my voice she started--she uttered a suppressed scream--she raised
her head--she withdrew her handkerchief from her eyes!--I beheld her
features