severing two of his fingers. Before he could turn to run again a second horseman was on him, and with a grim Hyun? Would you?' drove the lance through his chest. As he fell off it, dead, the blood gushed from his mouth upon the snow, and his cap and lungee rolled away, exposing the huge shaven head. The sowar came back to him in an instant, and deliberately drove the lance point two or three times through the hairy uncovered throat into the earth. Then they helped Atar Singh to tie up his wounded hand with a bit of his puggree, and went back into the road.

They found Guy lying where he had fallen. A sowar was supporting his head, but he had never moved or spoken. The bullet, fired from behind him, had gone in under the left shoulder and passed out through the chest. They staunched the blood as best they could, and one of them galloped on to overtake the regiment, which on the other side of the ridge had heard nothing of the shots. But the Sikhs knew it was useless; no help could save him now.

He was borne sadly back to the cantonment, and laid on the bed in his tent. The Indian mail had come in that day, and several letters from Helen were on the camp table by his side. There was also one from Roland and one from his mother. She had given way at last, and had written in words of passionate love and anxiety.

He was buried next day in the desolate cemetery at the western end of the cantonment, among the lopped stems of the willow trees. As the little party of his countrymen in their worn fighting-clothes stood by the open grave, the sun was shining and the sky was blue, and the great circle of mountains around them glittered in a dazzling garment of new-fallen snow. There they left him lying, his bright face very calm and peaceful, and his brave young heart for ever still. God rest our English dead!

CHAPTER XXXVII

SORROW

THE news of Guy's death was telegraphed to India, and Colonel Graham, who knew where Helen was, sent a private message to Colonel Aylmer. He described how Guy had been killed, and begged Aylmer to assure Helen of the deep sympathy of himself and his brother officers. 'Poor girl!' he said, 'I am afraid there is no breaking these things; but she must not learn it through the newspapers. I know Mrs. Aylmer is a great friend of hers.' Colonel Graham followed up his telegram by a letter speaking very warmly of Guy's character and services, and mentioning that he had intended to send in his name for the Victoria Cross on account of his conduct on the 23rd of December.

That Christmas night was not a merry one in Kabul. More than a twentieth part of our force had been killed or wounded during the past few days, and the hospitals were full of sick men; those who were not sick were tired with want and watching. Guy's name was brought up at more than one rough mess-table, and they were all sorry for him. 'Poor chap!' they said, 'it was hard luck getting bowled over like that just at the end, when everything seemed to be quiet. He was a good fellow too, and a gentleman, and had behaved awfully well when the regiment got slated on the 23rd. Just like those cowardly hogs, to go and shoot him from behind in the dark.' In his own regiment officers and men talked of him very often for some days. Lawrence missed him badly, and old Gulab Singh fairly cried over it; and then his property was sold by auction, with the exception of his sword and a few other things which were sent down to Helen. After that he was soon forgotten, as dead men must be who make no material gap in other men's lives.

The

living have no time to think of people who cannot do them any good, and do not write letters. How many of your friends do you suppose, even of your nearest and dearest, will ever go five miles out of their way to see your grave? How many dead men have you done it for? That has nothing to do with it; you have not forgotten them, but you can do them no good by going to their graves. If you say that, you have never loved.

When Guy had been dead a fortnight one man came and took a sketch of the place. Russell's big heart had been touched. Among the knot of bronzed and bearded English who gathered about the grave when the service was being read, his massive brow and dark, stern face were conspicuous. He stood bareheaded in the sun, towering above the men alongside him. When the service was over he walked away by himself. 'It does seem hard,' he thought; 'only twenty-seven. He was always plucky and bright, and he behaved really well the other day on the Siah Sung. He might have made a fine soldier. Well, he has died for the old country anyhow.' Then he wondered whether Helen was in India. 'Poor girl!' he said, 'it will be hard for her.'

When Colonel Graham's telegram reached Syntia it brought sadness to more than the one it chiefly concerned. The Thirtieth deplored Guy's death with real feeling, and Hugh Dale's loyal heart was very sore. The Aylmers were in painful distress and perplexity. The news coming now must be a terrible shock to Helen, and yet it seemed impossible to keep it from her long.

They did keep it from her for some days, and then Mrs. Aylmer made up her mind that she must delay no longer. Helen was gaining strength rapidly, and it was not right to leave her in ignorance. Besides, the nurse was very difficult to manage; it was impossible to make her behave as if nothing had happened, and there was no knowing what she might say or do.

Mrs. Aylmer was a brave woman, but for once she fairly recoiled from the task she had set herself. As she came to the door of Helen's room that morning and laid her hand on the curtain, she heard Helen's voice talking to the child. She stopped and listened. Only one month more, perhaps. Think of that, baby; only thirty days. But you won't know him when he does come, you unnatural little wretch; I shall have to introduce you, and I suppose you will both be very stiff and hardly speak to one another. Probably you won't speak at all,-won't even bow to him,' and she laughed a happy little laugh at her

own nonsense. Then she sighed, and was silent. Mrs. Aylmer knew well enough what her thoughts were. 'Will it really be only a month? If only I knew something for certain. Oh, when will he come to me?' Was she to step in now and say: 'Never, Helen; you will never see his face again. He is dead, and they have buried him far away in the Afghan snow'? She turned away from the door and stood irresolute. 'I cannot tell her,' she thought; it is too dreadful.' Her hesitation did not last long; she nerved herself with a desperate effort, and walked into the room. Helen looked round and smiled, and Mrs. Aylmer

came to her bedside and kissed her and sat down.

'How solemn you look.'

'Do I, dear? I have had bad news to-day.'

'Have you? I am so sorry.' Then Mrs. Aylmer's silence and something in her manner struck a chill to Helen's heart. She looked up with frightened eyes. Mrs. Aylmer did not meet

them.

'Helen, dear?'

'Yes.'

'You could be brave and strong, I know, if sorrow came to you too?'

Then she knew. There was nothing else that could bring her sorrow. She had no one but Guy. 'Oh, what is it?' she cried. 'He is not dead? say he is not dead!'

Mrs. Aylmer was silent. She held Helen's hand tight, but she could say nothing.

'Oh, tell me, tell me! He is wounded or ill; not dead, not dead?'

'God comfort you, dear!'

Helen sank back with a moan.

After a second or two she

spoke again; her eyes were wild, and her face was flushing. 'Tell me everything. When did you hear?'

Mrs. Aylmer told her of the telegram.

'Can I see it?'

'Yes, if you like, darling; but I have told you exactly what was said.'

'Let me see it, please.'

Mrs. Aylmer had guessed she would ask for it, and had brought it with her.

Helen read it slowly twice over, and Mrs. Aylmer saw her look at the date. Then she turned away with a low sigh, and covered her face with her hands and lay quite still. Mrs. Ayl

mer sat by her, hoping that she might speak, or that the tears would come to help her, but she lay breathing quietly as if asleep. All that day it was the same. Mrs. Aylmer tried to rouse her by speaking of the child, but it was useless; she seemed quite indifferent to it, and to everything, doing whatever they told her to do, and answering quietly when they spoke to her, but never speaking of her own accord, or showing any outward sign of grief. Only once she said to Mrs. Aylmer: 'Would you mind sending that telegram for me in the same words to Roland? He is at home now, I suppose,-Wrentham Hall, Warwick.'

In the night she slept a little, and when Mrs. Aylmer came to her next day she said: "They will write, won't they?—Colonel Graham or some of them?'

'Yes, they are sure to do that.'

'I suppose we shall get the letter in three or four days now?' Yes, I hope so.'

'Perhaps he wrote too when he telegraphed.'

'Very likely, dear; but he may not have had time to write.' Helen said no more, but lay waiting. Whenever any one came into the room she looked up with an anxious inquiry in her face. Her eyes were big and hollow now, and she was very white; the veins about her temples showed clearly.

It came at last, Guy's happy letter of the 23rd of December; and Mrs. Aylmer, knowing the writing, brought it to her and left her alone.

It was a voice from the grave. Helen read it with dry, eager eyes, until she reached Guy's description of the fight on the Siah Sung. The thought of him riding back alone to save his friend brought a sob to her throat, and in a moment more, as she read on to the prophetic ending, her sobs came thick and fast, and she burst into a passionate storm of tears. She could hardly see to read the closing words, with their cruel, unintentional satire: 'My darling, my own brave darling!' she wailed, 'I have killed you! I have killed you!'

Half an hour later Mrs. Aylmer went in to her and found her quiet and exhausted with grief; her hand was under her pillow holding her letter. After that, with all her self-reproach, she could speak about Guy, and could pity the child.

The letters from Colonel Graham and the other officers were all very full of sympathy, and, what was more to her, full of heartfelt praise. There were some touching letters also from one or two of Guy's native friends in the regiment. Men who will