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gratitude filled their hearts. Involuntarily kneeling down, they thanked God for their delivery from danger. It was their first act on reaching the harbour of refuge; a feeling akin to that of Noah possessed them, when, on escaping from the flood and deluge of waters, he built an altar and worshipped God. Perhaps the trouble and suffering had drawn them nearer to their Saviour—had led them to “the Rock that was higher than they”-had made them more dependent and more trustful on Him who is the keeper of His people.
While the weary family were resting in the officers' quarters, Tara, Boxoo, and poor Carlo were receiving a regular ovation from the men. They were pronounced in unmistakable English, to be "regular bricks." Carlo was feasted as he had not been for many a day, for during the mutiny he had been kept on very short commons, and all his sleekness had disappeared. He was praised until he hardly knew what to do with himself. He was paraded up and down, and exhibited as a wonderful fellow ; he had really been in the mutiny, and had not only escaped himself, but assisted his master's family to do so too.
That evening all the officers gave a kind of entertainment to the refugees. It was hur
riedly got up, and was wanting in brilliance and grandeur, but it was none the less enthusiastic for that.
As they sat together at the table, Colonel Ogilvie turned to young Fanshawe, and said,
“But however did you manage to escape ? I quite forgot, in the excitement of our meeting this morning, to ask you."
“Oh, as soon as I heard the shouts of those rascally sepoys, I was in a dreadful fright, and did not know what to do. A thousand plans of eluding them occurred to me, but I could not find one suitable.
“At last an idea rushed across my mind : they say drowning men will catch even at a straw. I would find my servant and beg of him to give me his clothes, so that I might wear them and escape in that manner.
“I dashed out of my room and up and down the house, but no servant could I find. I never saw him again; I dare say he was with the rebels. I almost gave up then; I thought it was all up. But the motto of my crest is 'Nil desperandum,'* and I acted like a true son of the old Fanshawe family. In my searches after my runaway valet, I saw something white hanging in an outhouse. Instantly I went to
* Never despair.
see what it was, and, to my inexpressible delight, found a suit of my gentleman's clothing. In a few minutes I had blackened my face and hands, and was decked out as a full-blown Khansamah. I mixed with the crowd in the street, and was undiscovered, thanks to the confusion and excitement; and thus I arrived safely here."
“But you do not know the language very well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie.
“Ah, there's the best of it. I pretended to be dumb, few people noticed me, and no one suspected such a respectable Mohammedan as I appeared to be. What became of Captain Wilson and the other officers I cannot tell,” he replied, solemnly.
“Fanshawe, we ought to be most thankful that we are alive, and here to-day. The Chaplain and his wife-good people—met with a horrible end at the hands of those men.”
A shudder ran through the whole company, for there were many present who remembered the frank and gentlemanly bearing, and the noble and Christian spirit of him whose sad fate they deplored and mourned. There is one toast always drunk at English tables in the East: it is, “Our absent friends.” On this occasion it was drunk in silence and in tears.
A SAD PARTING.
“Tell me, my secret soul,
Oh, tell me, hope and faith,
From sorrow, sin, and death ?
Where mortals may be blest ;
And weariness a rest?
heaven.'” MOLL this while I had not heard of their Cad troubles. Indeed, I did not know they me had arrived in Calcutta. How great, then, was my surprise one morning to see them walk into our drawing-room. In a few words I learnt all that they had undergone. How glad I was to see them again ! Poor little Grace ! she clung to me and kissed me over and over again during the recital, as if to
express her joy at being with me once more. They left her with me for the day, promising to call for her in the evening: it was a rest for her from the excitement of the past, as she talked quietly with me. She spoke of the mutiny, of that terrible day when they had fled from the house, and took refuge in the wood; but I noticed that she shuddered as she spoke, so I quietly changed the subject. That day passed too swiftly for Grace and myself, and we were both very sorry when her papa called to take her home.
After she had left, I sat musing and thinking of the changes those days of persecution had wrought in them. Mrs. Ogilvie was never a strong woman, but now she was feeble and emaciated, worn and weak; her eyes were sunken, and her face was pale and thin. She was changed. Weeks of such exposure and suffering could not be undergone without leaving their unmistakable impress on that sweet and gentle face.
Grace, too, was changed. When I first saw her she was the picture of an English girl, joyous, childish, and gay; but now she seemed developed into a little old woman. The childishness seemed to have faded away, and been replaced by a thoughtful, preoccupied air.