for them, he had a strange certainty that it was not to be. The
faintness that he had already felt returned. His head was burning and
throbbing; his ears buzzed; his limbs ached; his whole frame was seized
at moments with paroxysms of shivering which no effort could control.
Unknown to himself the seeds of malarial fever had found a lodgment in
his system. While listening to Toley's story, he had reclined on the
ground. When he tried to rise, he was overcome by giddiness and nausea.

"I am done up," he continued. "Mr. Toley, you must take charge and get
these goods conveyed to Calcutta. Lose no time."

Surendra Nath recognized the symptoms of the disease, and immediately had
a litter improvised for Desmond out of the linen covering of one of the
carts and a couple of muskets. Mr. Toley at once made preparations for
moving on with the convoy. The hackeriwallahs who had driven off the
cattle had not gone far; they had waited in the hope of getting the
bakshish promised them--if not from the young sahib, at least from the
leader of the attacking party, which from its numbers they believed would
gain the day.

The oxen were soon yoked up. Mr. Toley would not wait to recover the
loads of the carts that had toppled into the nullah, nor would he leave
men for that purpose, lest another attack should be made on them from
Hugli. He set off as soon as the teams were ready. Half an hour after
they started, Bulger, walking beside the litter, saw to his dismay that
Desmond had lost consciousness.

It was nearly a fortnight later when Desmond came to himself in his old
bunk on board the Hormuzzeer. He was alone. Lying on his back, feebly
trying to adjust his thoughts to his surroundings, he heard the faint
boom of guns. What was happening? He tried to rise, but all power was
gone from him; he could hardly lift an arm. Even the slight effort was
too much for him, and he swooned again.

When he once more recovered consciousness, he saw a figure by his side.
It was Mr. Toley. Again the distant thunder of artillery fell upon his
ears.

"What is happening?" he asked feebly.

"Almighty be praised!" said Toley fervently, "you're coming safe to port.
Hush! Lie you still. You'll want nussin' like a babby. Never you heed the
popguns; I'll tell you all about them when you're stronger. Food, sleep,
and air; that's my catechism, larned from the surgeon. Bless you, Burke,
I feared you was a done man."

With this Desmond had to be for the