"When I told him about it he instantly ordered a column of Sikh cavalry to cut their way into the Alumbagh, and have them telegraph that I was safe. All the morning they had been asking from the Residency, 'Has Kavanagh arrived?' The answers were unintelligible, as they knew nothing about Kavanagh; General Outram and Colonel Napier feared I had been killed, and so did the other officers who knew about my departure. All were terribly anxious, and when about eleven o'clock the semaphore spelled out, 'KAVANAGH HAS REACHED SIR COLIN SAFELY,' those strong fellows cried like children, and hugged each other with joy. One of them ran to tell my wife, who rubbed her eyes in astonishment, as she supposed all the time that I was on duty in the trenches. When she knew the story she sat down and cried too." As he reached this point in the story his voice choked, and the tears stood in his eyes. His listeners were likewise moist in the eyelids, and did not venture to speak. Doctor Bronson kept counting the links of his watch-chain, but could not make them out twice alike, and the boys were looking vacantly at the ground, as though they were not expecting to find anything there. There was a silence of several minutes, and then the music of a military band sounded in the distance, and all raised their heads. Nearer and nearer came the band, and louder grew the sounds. At length an English regiment appeared, crossed the iron bridge over the Goomtee River, and came on and on till it passed close to the Residency. "Let us go and see it," said Kavanagh, and the party rose and walked down the lawn to the roadside. As the soldiers marched past where they stood, the veteran's eye grew bright and the blood rose to his face; he was ten years younger in a few minutes, and his thoughts evidently carried him back to the days when the sound of the Scottish bagpipes was borne on the Indian breeze, and Havelock's army came to the relief of the beleaguered garrison. And while they silently gazed on the moving column, with its flashing rifles and waving banners, Frank was conning over in his memory the lines of Whittier, wherein is narrated the story of the Scotch girl at Lucknow, whose ears heard the music of her childhood long before it was distinguished by her companions: "Dinna ye hear it? Dinna ye hear it? The pipes o' Havelock sound?"