'The bridal party gathered, and at the very moment the clergyman was asking the bride if she was ready, a musket-shot entered the room, and she fell, mortally wounded. It had entered her chest, and then ensued a scene which I cannot describe. 'A company of Acharn's regiment--the 71st Bengal Native Infantry--had been brought in from the Muchee Bawn for disaffection some days before. They refused all obedience, and in vain were the black silk colours they had borne at Sobraon displayed to them. It was deemed imprudent to coerce them; and the result was that on that eventful evening--the 31st of May, the _budmashes_, or armed mob of Lucknow, rose, six thousand strong, crossed the Goomtee in wild tumult by a ford--a dark mass amid which there were thousands of glittering steel-points, rushing to join the mutineers. From one of the latter came the shot that struck down Olive Vane. We turned the great guns of the Residency upon them, and, after an hour's heavy firing, the insurrection was suppressed for a time; but a time only. 'During the attack and repulse, poor little Olive Vane lay motionless on a sofa, with young Acharn bending over her, weeping like a boy, and striving to staunch the blood that welled from the terrible wound in her bosom--a wound which the doctors declared she could not survive above an hour. When she recovered consciousness and learned the truth, her courage never quailed, but she said: '"Bob--dearest, kiss me once again. If I am to die, I shall die worthy of you." '"And I shall not survive you long, my darling; but there is yet time for us to be united. Come, sir, we are ready," said he to the clergyman, who, like all the rest of us, looked on with strange and haggard eyes. 'The girl's pale cheek flushed, but she was almost too weak to speak, for mental joy seemed to struggle for mastery with physical pain. What a strange sight she presented, lying there, her white bridal dress all stained with her blood, her beautiful dark brown hair all dishevelled, and looking so wan, so helpless, yet so resigned to die! 'Bob Acharn took her hand, and the chaplain proceeded with the ceremony. Thrice the quivering lips of Olive parted ere she could articulate "yes," and when she did so, it was the last word she uttered; and then a little foam came over her lips, for she was in her parting agony. And as he concluded the ceremony the sobs of the chaplain, who hid his face in his surplice, were echoed by those of Acharn, and the old judge her father.' 'A terrible story!' exclaimed Annabelle. 'And Acharn--what became of him?' asked Mary. 'He fought against the mutineers, with what animus you may imagine. Seeking death daily, he seemed to have a charmed life, till the 5th of September, when the enemy made their last serious and desperate assault, and he was blown to pieces when they exploded a mine near Apthorp's post, and strewed the garden around it with corpses.'