'And you have had two brothers in the service, Mrs. Trelawney told me?' resumed Goring, by no means anxious to let the conversation drop, or his companion begin to think of friends who might be looking for her. 'Yes--two, much older than I, however--poor Ranald and golden-haired Ellon.' 'What a curious name!' 'It is a place in Aberdeenshire where much of papa's property once lay. Ranald died of fever, and was buried in the lonely jungle near the Jumna.' 'Illness there does its work quickly--four and twenty hours will see the beginning and the end, and the green turf covering all. I have seen much of it in my time, Miss Cheyne--often buried the dead with my own hands, by Jove!' 'How sad to die as my poor brother did--so far away,' said the girl, her soft voice breaking a little. 'We have a saying in Scotland, "May you die among your kindred."' 'In the service one's comrades become one's kindred--we are all brother soldiers.' 'Ellon was thrown from his horse near Lahore, and impaled on his own sword, and so--and so--poor papa has now only me! I don't think he has ever got fairly over Ellon's death, as it left the baronetcy without an heir. But let me not think of these things.' 'I remember the unfortunate event of Ellon Cheyne's death,' exclaimed Goring, the colour gathering in his bronzed cheek. 'It occurred just close by the Cabul road, the day after we marched in from Umritsur; and, strange to say, I commanded the firing party at the poor fellow's funeral, on a day when the sky was like molten brass, and the wind swept past us hot and stifling like the blast from an open furnace.' 'You?' said Miss Cheyne, her eyes dilating as she spoke. 'Yes; my voice gave the orders for the three funeral volleys.' 'How strange--and now I meet you here!' 'The world is a small place now-a-days.' Her eyes were full of a tender interest now, that made the heart of her companion thrill; nor did hers do so the less that this event caused a bond of sympathy--a subject in common between them. A sad expression stole over the features of Alison Cheyne, and so regular were these, that with the fine outline of her profile they might have been deemed insipid, but for the variable expression of her very lovely eyes and sensitive mouth; and now, when flushed with the exercise of fast riding, the excitement of following the hounds amid such a stirring concourse, and over such an open country, they seemed absolutely beautiful. Attracted by each other's society, she and the Captain were now somewhat apart from all the field, and the brilliant hunt was waxing to its close.