'Trixy is a great warrior since she fired that pistol,' said Maud; 'but, seriously, mother, don't you think something ought to be done?' 'My dear children, be patient! We are women. We know nothing. Soldiers must obey orders,' said Lady Elton sadly. 'If your father would only come!' 'He will come soon, mother darling, don't be afraid,' said gentle little Lucy. Some such conversation as this had taken place on the afternoon of the day when firing was heard outside the walls. The five women heard it distinctly as they sat over their tea in the tent. Then Bertie Liston came rushing in with a radiant face. 'Good-bye,' he said, 'I am sent out to reconnoitre. What will you give me if I bring you back the General?' 'Anything, everything--all we have,' cried Trixy impulsively. She was lying on a charpoy, for she had not yet recovered from her wound. Bertie looked at her, and her pale face flushed; but there was time for no more words. He went out: she heard his horse's hoofs clattering over the paving-stones in the compound of the barracks, and covering her face with her hands she burst into tears. * * * * * An hour or more passed by. The firing outside had ceased. Nothing could be heard but the pacing of the sentinels and the chowkedars crying out one to the other. Darkness had fallen; but the little company in the tent did not stir. Then Maud, crying out that she could stand it no longer, lighted a lamp; Trixy, who was very much ashamed of her little outburst, asked for a book, and Lady Elton fell back upon her never-failing resource--the silk stockings she was knitting for the General. 'Do you think, dears,' she said to the two youngest girls, Lucy and Mildred, 'that you could sing one of your duets? If father did come home to-night, it would please him to hear your voices.' They said they would try, and in a few moments their sweet clear young voices rose above the stillness. It was one of the sentimental ditties that we used to admire in those days, neither the words of the song nor the music to which it was set of a particularly high order; but as, supported by his young friend, the old General approached the lighted tent, and heard in his girls' sweet voices of wild waves whispering and red roses fading away, his heart thrilled with a rapture such as no artistic music could have given. 'Bless them,' he said, in a low and heartfelt voice. 'All right, isn't it, Bertie? They couldn't sing like that if the shock had been too much for them. There! what an old donkey I am! I knew the children had the pluck of--Come on, Bertie. They are stopping. They hear us. Back, Yaseen Khan, you old fool! I don't want you to announce me.'