Robert Egerton (who was in _his_ day), Lieutenant-Governor of the
Punjab--we came in due course to Delhi.

Our first day there was devoted to tracing Mutiny relics of all kinds,
and about four P.M. in the afternoon we drove out to the famous Ridge to
see the Mutiny Memorial. This, as most people nowadays know, is a red
standstone tower, with staircase of rough stone inside, and small
windows pierced through at varying intervals. It stands upon an
extensive marble flooring, which is inscribed with the names of the
various regiments--officers and men--who took part in the renowned
siege, and died for their country in consequence.

As we drove towards the Memorial, the whole place seemed to be in a
flutter of excitement. Hundreds of coolies were flocking round, and we
both remarked how much more interested they appeared to be in these
monuments of past events than the corresponding class of English
labourers would have been. But on arrival we found there was no question
of intelligent historical interest. The fact was that a poor coolie--who
had just climbed up the Memorial Tower by the inner staircase--had
fallen out of one of the windows described, and was lying on the marble
floor below, at the far side from us, crushed and dying. We were told
that an Englishman had, fortunately, been present, and had driven off at
once for a doctor. So nothing could be done for the poor man until the
latter arrived.

Meanwhile our native servant--Bobajee--had, of course, rushed off to
see what was to be seen of the tragedy, and, rather to my horror, my
girl friend seemed about to follow his example! It was terrible to think
of the poor man lying there in his death agony; but he was already
surrounded by natives, and no real help could be given without fear of
doing more harm than good before the doctor was brought to the spot.
Therefore merely to go and look on, without being able to succour,
seemed to me an added horror to the tragedy, and I turned round rather
sharply on my young friend, and expostulated with her. As a matter of
fact, she did _not_ go; but I am obliged to mention the incident as
accounting for a certain momentary excitement and annoyance on my part,
which proved to be factors in the story about to be related.

Allowing for difference of time between Delhi and London, a very old
friend of mine, Lady Wincote (who was then living in London, where I was
in the habit of visiting her constantly when in town), was lyin