Was that I? It seemed as if it must have been; but in a confused way I argued that, if it had, I could not have sat on horseback and seen him fall. I was still puzzling about it with a _feeling_ upon me that my brain would not work properly, when a purdah was thrust on one side, and a tall, grave, grey-bearded man in white and gold came slowly in. His voluminous turban was of white muslin, and his long snowy garment descended almost to his feet. I felt, as he gravely fixed his eyes upon me, and advanced to where I lay, that this must be a kind of dream, and that possibly the sun had beat so hotly upon my helmet that it had had some effect upon my brain. Consequently, all I had to do was to be still, and then all would come clear. But the dream became to me wonderfully real as the tall grave Mussulman went down on one knee and laid his hand upon my head, the touch feeling cool and pleasant, while, as he saw my eyes fixed upon his inquiringly, he said in very good English-- "The young sahib is better?" "Better?" I replied in a curiously faint voice--"better? Have I been ill?" "Don't try to talk. Not ill, sahib--wounded." "Oh!" I ejaculated. "Then I was hurt in that charge. Where is Captain Brace?" "Don't talk; you are weak. Let me look at your wound." As he spoke he laid his hand upon my left arm, but changed his mind, and his hands were busy about my head, which I found now was confined by a bandage. This being removed, he gave me a little pain by touching one spot just above my temple, which was extremely tender, and then, taking out a pair of scissors, he snipped away a little hair closely; after this he drew a piece of fine white cloth from his pocket, he poured some brown strongly scented fluid from a little flask to moisten it, and laid the little wet patch on my head, with the result that it tingled sharply. "Hurt?" he said quietly. "Yes; a little." "It will soon go off." As he spoke he very carefully bound the linen bandage he had removed back in its place. "Is it a sword-cut?" I asked. "No, sahib; a bullet struck your helmet, and made a bad place within. It is not very serious, and if you are quiet, it will soon be well." "But where is Dr Danby? Why does he not come?" I asked; then, in a startled way, "He is not killed?" The grey-bearded old fellow merely shook his head and repeated his injunction that I should not talk, and now began examining my left arm, which was firmly bandaged, and began to pain me severely at his touch. "Is that a bullet wound?" I said in a whisper, for I felt that I must resign myself to my position, and, after the first shock, I began to feel rather proud that I had been wounded, for I felt not the slightest inclination to stir. "No," he said, as he removed bandage after bandage, "a cut from a tulwar just below the shoulder. You will be brave, and bear what I do without being faint? Yes," he added, with a grave smile, "you English sahibs are brave. Hurt?"