here in a week. Meantime I hope we shall be able to hold the residency. Everything depends on whether the sepoys attack us or march off for Delhi."
Another weary day was passed by Yorke, in the court-house, marked only by heat and suspense, and which seemed as if it would never come to an end. Towards evening a residency servant came over with refreshments and ice sent by Olivia, and brought a note in pencil from Falkland. "The rising is fixed for tonight. I have this from two quarters. Be on your guard. Your men will certainly join. Do nothing to precipitate it; but whenever your men declare themselves, and you can do no good by stopping, make your way over here as fast as you can."
So then the supreme moment was come at last; was it to be his fate to be shot down unresisting, as so many others had been already? or might he have the bitter happiness of at least making a fight for it, and dying in defence of his idol, like a gallant soldier? "What a fool I was," he thought, "never to have bought a revolver while I had the chance!"
Thus musing, and in a state of highly-wrought expectancy, the young man sat in the waiting-room of the court-house, sipping his iced water to keep down the choking sensation in his throat, and making believe to eat the dinner which his servant had placed before him. Then, as it grew dark, he put on his sword, and mustered the men for evening roll-call, inspected the guard, and went the round of the sentries. There was nothing in the manner of the sepoys to indicate that any movement was intended; but he noticed that, on going off duty, they did not strip to their waist-cloths, as would have been usual, but dressed themselves in their light tunics, and that they wore turbans instead of their ordinary cotton skull-caps. This looked bad; but it seemed useless to say anything.
By-and-by Yorke lay down on his bed before the tent — this time, however, fully dressed — and as he looked around him, the unlovely baked-up landscape, lighted up by the young moon, seemed to have new charms. Was he looking on it for the last time?
With his head on the pillow, he could watch the men, and he observed that, although quite quiet, none of them lay down to sleep; nor did they appear to be smoking, but sat talking in little groups in a low tone.
But nature will assert itself, even when a man is expecting death; and while thus lying, and, as he thought, on the alert, Yorke fell into a doze, from which he was suddenly awoke by the sound of a cannon.
Was it the morning gun in cantonments, four miles off?
It was the cantonment gun, but not the morning gun; it was the gun at midnight — the signal for the outbreak.
Yorke started to his feet.
The sepoys, too, sprang to seize the muskets piled before their tents, and began to fall in. Yorke advanced towards them, for it was light enough to see what had happened, calling out in Hindustani, "What are you doing, sepoys? Are you mad, to behave like this?"
There was a stir among them, and several muskets were pointed at him; but while the old soobahdar stood irresolute, others ran forward and surrounded him. At first he thought they meant to kill him, but their movement was really to protect him from the rest.
"There will be no harm done you," said they; "but it is of no use to resist." And hardly understanding how it came about, Yorke found himself half led, half hustled, into the residency park, when the men suddenly left him standing alone, and returned to their fellows.
So then the crisis was over; and he had done his duty and yet got off with his life — thus far faring better than many a comrade in the like case.
Just then he was startled by a man coming up to him out of the darkness, who turned out to be one of the residency servants, who had been watching the affair, and told him he would find the commissioner at the house.
Falkland was standing on the steps of the portico, with Sparrow, Maxwell, the jemadar, and some half-dozen servants armed with muskets.
"So," said Falkland, grasping his hand warmly, as Yorke explained briefly what had happened, "my information has turned out true. The scoundrels have behaved well so far, in letting you off without injury, and it looks as if they meant to go away quietly."
"What is the next thing to be done?" asked Yorke.
"Nothing but to wait upon events. If the sepoys march upon the city and us, we have only too sell ourselves as dearly as possible; there are four of us behind a breastwork, and I think I can depend on these good fellows" — pointing to the servants who stood in the portico;
