In a few minutes Walter Gordon stood by the bedside of his friend Harper, who had fallen into a troubled sleep. At the head was seated the faithful Haidee, and she was applying iced water to the forehead of the patient. Gordon soon made himself known to her, and she briefly told him the history of his friend since they had parted--a space of time brief enough in itself, but filled with suffering and sorrow for them all. Harper was deathly pale, his eyes were sunken; he had been severely wounded. The ball had entered the left breast, glanced along one of the ribs, narrowly escaping the heart, and ultimately lodged beneath the shoulder-blade. No vital organ had been touched; but there was considerable inflammation, and the doctors were not without anxiety for the condition of their patient. They had not yet extracted the ball, owing to his weakened state. Haidee watched every change of countenance, noted every beat of his pulse, for she scarcely ever moved her fingers from his wrist. It was certain that, if loving care could save him, his life would not be sacrificed. Gordon was anxious to know who Haidee was; but he did not like to question her, and she did not volunteer the information. He was afraid to think evil of his friend, and yet he was at a loss to account for Haidee’s presence. Presently Harper turned uneasily on the bed, then he opened his eyes and stared at Gordon, who put out his hand to shake that of his friend. But Harper only stared--there was no recognition--the light of reason was for a time out of his eyes, and he was delirious. The little band of defenders were now thrown into commotion by the arrival of a messenger who brought word that the rising had commenced, that the gaol had been thrown open, and the treasury was being sacked. The news was too true. The hour of the Nana’s triumph had arrived. He had given the word, and his followers at the Newab-gung had broken open the gaol and set the prisoners free. Then they cleared out the magazine, and a wealth of heavy artillery and ammunition fell into their hands. The spoil from the treasury was heaped upon elephants and carts, and the infuriated soldiery, feeling themselves unfettered at last, cried-- “Forward to the Imperial City!” They, like the Meerut mutineers, expected great things from the restored sovereignty; upon the restoration of the Mogul throne they placed all their hopes.