"I will not sicken you with the scene around me, one that I tried to leave behind; but I had not limped many paces before a faint voice cried after me, `Sergeant!' and turning, there, raising himself upon his elbow, was poor John Morris, with a look that I shall never forget upon his face. There were plenty of horrors about, but I had eyes only for the poor fellow before me, and kneeling down, I supported his head and tried to stanch his wounds. "`No good! no good!' he whispered. `I'm cut to pieces. Done my duty, sergeant, though it was hard work not to desert when I had to leave her. Find her; tell her I was true to the last, and--Cowards!' he cried. "At the same moment, almost, I started up, but half-a-dozen horsemen were upon me, and I was cut down and knew no more. "It was years after when I saw England again, and tried to find out poor Mary--the weak, simple-hearted girl who had been left behind. I tried hard, but for a long time without any result, till one day I met by chance another woman who had been in the same plight. "`Can I tell you where she is?' she said, `yes; come with me and I'll show you.' "I hung back for a moment, thinking of the sad news I had to tell; but duty's duty, and I followed the woman from street to street, for quite half an hour, during which time I'd made up the words I meant to say, and was ready with my message, meaning, too, to tell poor Mary where she could draw the pay due to her husband. But I never delivered my message, for turning to the woman I said, `is it much farther?' "`No,' she said, `close here; and I'd have been with her, but for the hope that my poor boy would some day come back.' "I hung back again, but she took hold of my arm as she stopped by an iron gate, and pointed to a multitude of green mounds, saying-- "`They laid her there, somewhere, two years ago now, but I don't know which was the grave; for poor folks die fast, and people don't put stones up for soldiers' wives.' "`Do you know what she died of?' I said, softly, for I was shocked and surprised. "`Died of?' said the woman bitterly; `what I should have died of, only I was too hard--died because her husband was dragged away, and her little ones went one after the other: died of a broken heart! a poor, gentle thing, praying that they might meet again.' "Yes; that mark was left when the Sikh cut me down, as I held poor John Morris's head; and now if you please, ma'am, we'll change the subject, for when I get talking about other people's sorrows that old wound begins to throb." CHAPTER TEN. >122--> CHAPTER ELEVEN. >130--> "But I have," he said, "and she has gone home." "Quite cured?" I said.