The other two officers were detained as prisoners by Ackbar Khan. General Trecarrel, who had just come in from the Bala Hissar with an escort of the 5th Cavalry, was furious, and wished the cantonment to open with round shot, grape, and canister, on everything and everybody within their range; but grave consideration was necessary now--our little force was so isolated in that hostile land. At the time these events were occurring, the remains of Sir Alexander Barnes's body, cut in pieces, were still hanging on the trees of his garden as food for the vultures, and Ackbar Khan was driving in the Char Chouk, in the carriage of Sir William Macnaughten, whose head he hung there in a _bhoosa_ bag (or forage-net) till it could be transmitted by a _tchopper_, or mounted messenger, to the Emir of Bokhara; and the poor ladies in the cantonments looked at each other with blanched faces, as they heard of those terrible things. So closed the night of the 23rd December over our troops in far-away Cabul. CHAPTER XIII. HOME IN THE SPIRIT. "And now for my letter!" exclaimed Denzil, as he hurried eagerly from the excited throng about the cantonment gate to his new quarters, a bungalow of somewhat humble construction, as its low roof was thatched, and its walls built of the unburnt brick peculiar to Cabul. Save his bed and table, a chair, some bullock trunks, and accoutrements, furniture or ornament it had none. The letter lay on the table, and, as he entered, its black-edged envelope gave him a shock. Audley had not mentioned this circumstance, for he humanely knew that until the fatal conference was over, and Denzil could get it perused, his anxiety would be torture, as "the dim shadow of an unknown evil is worse than the presence of a calamity whose worst is told." It proved to be from Sybil, and, curiously enough, had been brought from Bombay by Audley Trevelyan! In India, people when "up country" are thankful to get their home letters, even though six months old, and, in the joy of receiving one, the longing to learn all it contained--tidings of those he loved, and who were so far away--Denzil forgot the terrible double catastrophe he had so recently witnessed--the cruel butchery of two gallant gentlemen; he forgot even about Rose Trecarrel, and cast himself into his chair, to enjoy the full luxury of perusing it; but for a time an envious film spread over his eyes when he attempted to read--a film that was soon to turn to tears. "Ah! England and Sybil," he murmured, "how far, far, I am away from you!" The letter was dated some months back; and the first few words gave the young military exile a dreadful shock, for they told him of his mother's death:--