'The enemy fought us inch by inch, and lane by lane; from every window poured a little volley; every house had to be stormed, hand-to-hand we fought our way, and so on. You know the sort of thing. Then, as we turned into the main street, puff! a great blaze and a roar, and a dense cloud of smoke, and smash came a cannon-ball into the midst of us--five or six men were knocked over--Tomkin's horse lost a tail, Brown had his nose put out of joint, Smith was blown up to a second-storey window--something must be done. But I am tiring you?' 'No, no,' cried Maud, 'I like it--go on.' 'Well, let me see. Oh yes, something must be done. To put spurs to my Arab's sides, to cut my way down through the astonished mob, to leap the barricade (it was only eight feet high, and armed with a _chevaux de frise_), to sabre the six gunners who were working the battery, was, I need hardly say, the work of a moment. Then--a crushing blow from behind, and I remember nothing more, till, a month later, I found myself, weak and wounded, in bed; and a lovely nun gave me some gruel, and told me that Mírabad was ours! "Where am I?" I exclaimed, for I felt so confused, and the nun looked so angelic, that I fancied I must have gone to heaven. My companion, however, soon brought me to earth by--_et cætera et cætera et cætera_.' 'That is the sort of thing which happens in "Charles O'Malley,"' said Sutton; 'only Lever would have put Tippoo Sahib or Tantia Topee on the other side of the barricade, and I should have had to cut his head off and slaughter all his bodyguard before I got out again.' 'And then,' said Maud, 'the nun would have turned out to be some one.' 'But,' said Desvoeux, 'how do you know that the nun did _not_ turn out to be some one, if only I had chosen to fill up those _et cæteras?_' 'Well,' said Sutton, who apparently had had enough of the joke 'that part of the story I will tell you myself. The nun was a male one--my good friend Boldero, who took me into his quarters, looked after me for six weeks, till I got about again, and was as good a nurse as any one could wish for.' 'I should have liked to be the nun,' Maud cried, moved by a sudden impulse which brought the words out as the thought flashed into her mind, and turning crimson, as was her wont, before they were out of her mouth. 'That is very kind of you,' said Sutton, standing up, and defending her, as Maud felt, from all eyes but his own; 'and you would have been a very charming nurse and cured me, I dare say, even faster than Boldero. And now, Desvoeux, go and sing us a song as a _finale_ to your story.