eneral's face was reflected on those around him.
Clearly it was not often that Brigadier Speathley heard an opinion
different from his own. "Proceed, sir, proceed!" he snapped ferociously.
"I'll be bound we haven't been favoured with the full extent of your
views yet."

The tone was intolerable, and Gerrard grew white with suppressed wrath.
"I have no more to say, sir, if the petty and unchristian course of
turning a dead man out of his grave has already been decided upon."

"I thought so!" cried the General in triumph. "Antony's cursed
sentimental notions, of course--might have known it. You are one of
those who prefer the blackfellows to your own people, sir, who think the
lives of the Company's servants are nothing compared with the fear of
displeasing the natives."

"At least, sir, I placed myself at Mr Charteris's disposal to rescue or
avenge Captain Cowper and Mr Nisbet, or your army might not have been
here to-day. And you will permit me to add that I still consider my plan
likely to be more impressive, if less disgusting, to the natives than
yours."

"And you'll permit me to say, sir," roared the General, whose eyes were
protruding from his head, "that my plan will be carried out if every
pestilent political in Granthistan is opposed to it. It's high time you
came back to duty, sir. You seconded subalterns think no small beer of
yourselves, I know, but you'll learn better here, I can tell you, and
you'll find---- Eh, what's that?"

An unobtrusive aide-de-camp was presenting a paper at his elbow, and as
he read it his face changed, but by no means cleared. "Hum--ha!" he
muttered, "it seems you have some fancy status here--political trick, I
suppose--some quibble about Habshiabad lying outside Granthistan. But
it's all one. If you ain't under my command, you don't get mentioned in
my despatches--see? Eh, how does that suit you, sir?"

"I am honoured by the omission, sir," said Gerrard.

[1] Prestige.

[2] Native force under European leadership.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE TRIUMPH OF THE DEAD.

The siege of Agpur was in full swing, the big guns battering at the
walls from a distance, while the trenches crept nearer and nearer to
the outlying suburbs. Nisbet and Cowper still slept in their
desecrated grave in the precincts of Ratan Singh's tomb, not because
the mind of General Speathley had yielded in the least to Gerrard's
arguments, but on account of the opportune arrival of the ammunit