"I have just had a glimpse of that dreadful negro in Johannes' House," she said. Mr. Mayne threw down a bundle of clothes he was carrying. He unslung his rifle. His face, tanned by exposure to sun and rain, lost some of its brick-red color. "Are you sure?" he whispered, as if their voices might betray them. Like every other man in the garrison he longed to check the career of "Bob the Nailer." "It is too late," said the girl. "He was visible only for an instant. Look! I saw him at that window." She partly opened the wooden shutter again and pointed to an upper story of the opposite building. Almost instantly a bullet imbedded itself in the solid planks. Some watcher had noted the opportunity and taken it. Winifred coolly closed the casement and adjusted its cross-bar. "Perhaps it is just as well you missed the chance," she said. "You might have been shot yourself while you were taking aim." "And what about you, my lady?" "I sha'n't offend again, uncle, dear. I really could not tell you why I looked out just now. Things were quiet, I suppose. And I forgot that the opening of a window would attract attention. But why in the world are you bringing me portions of Mr. Malcolm's uniform? That is what you have in the bundle, is it not?" "Yes. The three men who shared his room are dead, and the place is wanted as an extra ward. I happened to hear of it, so I have rescued his belongings." "Do you--do you think he will ever claim them, or that we shall live to safeguard them?" "My dear one, that is as Providence directs. It is something to be thankful for that we are alive and uninjured. And that reminds me. They need a lot of bandages in the hospital. Will you tear Malcolm's linen into strips? I will come for them after the last post."[12] [Footnote 12: Non-military readers may need to be reminded that the "last post" is a bugle-call which signifies the close of the day. It is usually succeeded by "Lights out."] He hurried away, leaving the odd collection of garments with her. The clothes were her lover's parade uniform, which Malcolm had carried from Meerut in a valise strapped behind the saddle. The other articles were purchased in Lucknow and had never been worn. In comparison with the smart full-dress kit of a cavalry officer and the spotless linen, a soiled and mud-spattered turban looked singularly out of place. It was as though some tatterdemalion had thrust himself into a gathering of dandies. Being a woman, Winifred gave no heed to the fact that the metal badge on the crossed folds was not that worn by an officer, nor did she observe that it carried the crest of the 2d Cavalry, whereas Malcolm's regiment was the 3d. But, being also a very thrifty and industrious little person, she decided to untie the turban, wash it, and use its many yards of fine muslin for the manufacture of lint.