“Miss Heriton, you may, and doubtless do, think it strange that I should select a female instructor for these poor children. I will tell you why I have done so. Their father was an English officer, whose duties had fixed his residence at a small station not far from Meerut. It was a dull life for a man of active habits; but his wife--a pretty, gentle woman--shared it; and to make it still less irksome, they had kept their children with them instead of sending them to England for their education. You remember the fearful mutiny that broke out at Meerut? Captain Denison was one of the first victims the brutal sepoys pounced upon, and his wretched wife barely saved herself and these two boys by flight.” Florence began to look with awakening interest on the delicate lads of whom he spoke. “Yes,” Mr. Aylwinne went on, “she fled; and braving all other dangers, hid in the jungle. But she was tracked there by the insatiate shedders of blood. When she found that they drew near her hiding place, she commanded her children to be still, whatever might happen; and then, with a mother’s devotion, started up and fled to lead her pursuers away ere they discovered that she was not alone. “She was seen--followed--hacked limb from limb, with these wretched, powerless children looking on--their faculties so chilled with horror that for days, nay, weeks, they were speechless and almost idiotic. But you are faint. Let me give you a chair.” He waited till Florence had somewhat recovered the sickening sensation his tale had induced, and then went on: “An aged Hindu woman found these boys, and, moved with compassion, took them to her hut, and hid them there until the first fury of the mutineers was allayed. Then she contrived to pass them from one to another of her acquaintances till, by a fortunate accident, they fell into my hands. I have done my best with them, but they are still sickly, timid children: their dreams visited by visions of the scene they saw in the jungle, their nerves unstrung by trifles at which most boys of their age would laugh. An attempt to harden them by the companionship of other lads in a large school has failed. Miss Heriton”--and now Mr. Aylwinne’s voice was low and faltering--“you are an orphan yourself; you have known what it is to lose the best and dearest of earthly friends. Can you not pity these still more sadly bereft ones?” Although unable to hear what their guardian was saying, the boys had closed the portfolio, and sat mutely studying the beautiful face of Florence. She saw this, and, deeply moved by Mr. Aylwinne’s recital, forgot everything else. She went toward them with extended hands, and they nestled to her side with confiding smiles. She was so fair, so gentle, that they could not fear her. And Mr. Aylwinne was satisfied. “Before I leave you to get better acquainted,” he said, “I ought to mention that Mr. Lumley, who has other pupils, will take these boys of mine for so many hours each day.”