The weight of sorrow that had so suddenly fallen upon her young head was almost unbearable, and the frail thread of life threatened to snap. She grew calmer presently. She brushed away her tears and stood up before him. “At such an awful time as this,” she said, “the dead are to be envied. I cannot hope that my poor husband and I will ever meet again. He went to Delhi. He is a soldier--a brave one--and will do his duty. But behind him are the mutineers. When they reach the Imperial City, few, if any, white men will escape the carnage that will ensue after their arrival. But even if he should be fortunate enough to come safely through the chances of war, my end is near. I have not been well for a long time. The terribly hot season of this awful climate has fearfully enervated me; and it had been arranged between my husband and me that I was to return to Europe. But it is all over now. This shock is too much for an already shattered constitution to bear, and in a very short time my sorrows will end, and I shall join my mother. Give me your hands, Walter; the other one as well. Look into my eyes, brother--for so I may call you--and listen to my words, as the words of a dying woman. My sister is in robust health; she is young and beautiful. She is your betrothed. She would, in a short time, have been your wife. Her honour, which is dearer to her than life, is imperilled. Let your mission be to save her--if that is possible. With your eyes looking into mine--with both your hands placed in mine--promise me, I, who stand on the very verge of the grave, that you will rescue my sister, or perish in the attempt. Remember she is your affianced wife, and her honour is yours.” “I need no such reminder,” he answered with closed teeth; “my course is clear--my mind made up. In a few hours, whatever the hazards--whatever the peril--I shall be on the road to Delhi, and I will save your sister, or perish in the attempt!” “Some good angel will surely hear your words,” Emily replied, “and will write them in the book where the deeds of brave men are recorded, and a just Heaven will reward your efforts.” She had spoken as if she had been inspired, but the great effort had exhausted her, and she sank back upon the couch, pallid and trembling. And Gordon knew too well that in the Indian climate such extreme prostration was an almost certain sign of coming death. A few hours had served to bring about terrible changes in each of their lives; and what the end might be, no man could tell. But he braced himself up to do his duty, and mentally vowed never to cease his search for the lost Flora while he had reason to believe that she lived, and while health and strength were his. “You must remain very quiet now, and get rest,” he said, as he placed a pillow under the head of Mrs. Harper. “Your sister’s ayah, Zeemit Mehal, promised to meet me here; I must go and seek her, and arrange my plans with her; for she has promised to go with me.”