The first questions asked were, whether any tidings had come from the city, for after late events, the risk of death and decapitation run by those who ventured to confer with Ackbar and the insurgent Khans was indeed a painful and terrible one. Neither Brigadier Shelton, Major Pottinger, nor Burgoyne had returned as yet; so the conversation speedily fell back into its channel of light-heartedness. "So, Trevelyan," said Waller, quite forgetting the presence of Denzil, and blundering on a most unlucky topic, "I heard that you have been flirting furiously all day with Rose Trecarrel; but then, as the aide-de-camp, you are quite a friend of the family." "Oh! ours is an old affair," replied Audley, laughing heartily, as he selected a cheroot; "like the 'Belle of the Ball,'" he added, profoundly ignorant of Denzil's regard for her, "Miss Rose 'Has smiled on many, just for fun-- I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the FIRST, the ONLY one, Her heart had thought of for a minute; I knew it, for she told me so, In phrase that was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand, and oh! How sweetly all her notes were folded!' We were old friends at home in Cornwall; besides, she is so lady-like and pretty--almost beautiful." "That I grant you," said Polwhele, who saw--that which Denzil did not--that Audley's tone and manner had nothing of the lover in them; "but Rose has always more strings than one to her bow." "Or, more beaux than one to her string," said Waller, laughing. "Never puts all her money on one horse anyway. Bagging a sub. is to her like snipe-shooting in an Irish bog; poor sport after all; but a power sight better than none," said Ravelstoke, of the 37th Native Infantry, at whose freedom of speech Waller frowned. And this was the consolation to which Denzil was treated. How little he knew that at that very time, Audley Trevelyan, in his heart, was contrasting Sybil's pure and loving prattle, her genuine enthusiasm in poetry, art, and all that was beautiful in nature, with the occasional rantipole of this garrison belle. "What is that?" said Waller, suddenly, as a drum was beaten hurriedly outside. "The guard of ours, at the Kohistan gate, getting under arms," replied Ravelstoke; "Brigadier Shelton has come with tidings, and his head on his shoulders--we shall soon know our fate now!" The sound of hoofs trotting fast through the Cantonments was heard, as the gate was closed and secured; and in a minute or less, Burgoyne, of the 37th, came in with his sword under his arm, and a brace of loaded pistols in his waistbelt. He looked pale, excited, and weary indeed! "Now, Burgoyne, for your news?" said Waller; "but take a pull at that wine-jar first." Burgoyne did so, with an air of thirst and lassitude, though the atmosphere was intensely cold. "Is the Brigadier safe?" said Polwhele. "Yes." "And Pottinger, too?" "Yes; we have come back unharmed."