night, in spite of my grief for my uncle and the others, and my
horror of being a prisoner in the hands of the Sepoys. I did not blame
him, because I knew how he must have felt, and that it was done in a
moment of panic. I was not so sorry for myself as for him, for I knew
that if he escaped, the thought of that moment would be terrible for
him. I need not say that in my mind the feeling that he should not
have left me so has been wiped out a thousand times by what he did
afterwards, by the risk he ran for me, and the infinite service he
rendered me by saving me from a fate worse than death. But I can enter
into his feelings. Most men would have jumped over just as he did, and
would never have blamed themselves even if they had at once started away
down the country to save their own lives, much less if they had stopped
to save mine as he has done.

"But who can wonder that he is more sensitive than others? Did he not
hear from you that I said that a coward was contemptible? Did not all
the men except you and my uncle turn their backs upon him and treat him
with contempt, in spite of his effort to meet his death by standing up
on the roof? Think how awfully he must have suffered, and then, when it
seemed that his intervention, which saved our lives, had to some extent
won him back the esteem of the men around him, that he should so fail
again, as he considers, and that with me beside him. No wonder that he
takes the view he does, and that he refuses to consider that even the
devotion and courage he afterwards showed can redeem what he considers
is a disgrace. You always said that he was brave, Doctor, and I believe
now there is no braver man living; but that makes it so much the worse
for him. A coward would be more than satisfied with himself for what he
did afterwards, and would regard it as having completely wiped out any
failing, while he magnifies the failing, such as it was, and places but
small weight on what he afterwards did. I like him all the better for
it. I know the fault, if fault it was, and I thought it so at the time,
was one for which he was not responsible, and yet I like him all the
better that he feels it so deeply."

"Well, my dear, you had better tell him so," the Doctor said dryly. "I
really agree with what you say, and you make an excellent advocate. I
cannot do better than leave the matter in your hands. You know, child,"
he said, changing his tone, "I have from the first wished for Bathurst
an