Pandies may make an effort to drive us out of the Kaiser Bagh
again; so goodbye. If I can get away this evening I will come to
see you at the hospital."

A week later Frank Mallett was sitting in a chair by his bedside.
The fighting was all over, and a strange quiet had succeeded the
long roar of battle. His neck was strapped up with bandages, and
save that he was unable to move his head in the slightest degree,
he felt well enough to take his place with the regiment again. Many
of his fellow officers dropped in from time to time for a short
chat, but the duty was heavy. All open resistance had ceased, but
the troops were engaged in searching the houses, and turning out
all rough characters who had made Lucknow their centre, and had no
visible means of subsistence. Large gangs of the lower class
population were set to work to bury the dead, which would otherwise
have rendered the city uninhabitable. Strong guards were posted at
night, alike to prevent soldiers from wandering in search of loot
and to prevent fanatics from making sudden attacks.

"There is a wounded man in the hospital across the road who wants
to see you, Mallett," the surgeon said one morning. "He belongs to
your company, but as he only came out with the last draft, and was
transferred only on the day that the fighting began, I don't
suppose you know him. He said I was to tell you his name was George
Lechmere, though he enlisted as John Hilton."

"I seem to know the name, doctor, though I don't remember at
present where I came across him. I suppose I can go in to see him?"

"Oh, yes, there is no objection whatever. Your wound is doing as