“I can’t honestly say I ever was on my own account--probably it’s a treat in store for me--but I have felt fears for others that have made my heart stand still more than once. The sensation must be the same as abject personal fear--in other words, a blue funk.” “Well, I don’t understand; explain yourself?” “For instance, when I saw a gun and four horses suddenly back over the edge of a pass, and ultimately go over--in spite of the horses’ frantic exertions--a fall of two thousand feet, I trembled for the gunners.” “So I should imagine.” “Fortunately they flung themselves off in time.” “Poor horses! what a horrible sight!” said Mary Ferrars. “I daresay you have seen a good many such.” “Yes, I’m sorry to say I have. For instance, I have seen a horse’s head taken clean off with a shell.” “Don’t, Reginald!” exclaimed Helen; “you are making me perfectly sick.” “Well then, I won’t; I’ll spare you the rest of my experiences. You want to know, Geoff, what I mean by ‘fearing for others’? Now, for instance, if old Fordyce gets the regiment, I tremble for _you_. He has seen the superb caricature you drew of him, nearly all nose; and he strongly suspects that you are the ‘party’ that painted old Blowhard, his favourite white charger, a dazzling shepherd’s-plaid. I shudder when I think of _your_ fate, my young friend.” “Stuff, rubbish, nonsense!” exclaimed Geoffrey contemptuously. “Do you know what _I_ heard the other day? but I need hardly say that I did not believe it: that you, Reginald Fairfax,--‘Fighting Fairfax,’ as they call you--keep the young fry of the Seventeenth in glorious order. ‘Set a thief to catch a thief,’ I said. The benighted youths look upon you as a happy blending of Bayard and Sir Galahad. I assured my informant that ‘Still waters run deep’ was a proverb made expressly to fit you, and that they little knew you.” “Much obliged,” replied Reginald, stroking his moustache to conceal a smile. “We have a very nice set of boys in the Seventeenth, and you might do worse than exchange. I’ll see that they don’t bully you, and do what I can to smarten you up.” “Thanks for your noble offer, but the Fifth could not afford to lose me. As to smartening me up, it would be impossible; it would be painting the lily. Don’t you think so, Miss Ferrars? Don’t you think I’m a very smart-looking young fellow? just as efficient, if not actually as bloodthirsty, as our host, who revelled in the name of ‘Shaitan’ whilst in Afghanistan. It was a pretty little nickname given him by the tribes. You can guess what it means,” nodding across the table mysteriously. “Enough of these mutual compliments,” exclaimed Helen. “It was not Reginald himself, but his _horse_ that was called ‘Shaitan,’ my good Geoffrey, and the Afghans had something else to do than find nicknames for British officers.”