He was wrapped in his blanket, and his face was tied up with a cloth.
Coughing violently, he squatted himself in front of his tent, and rocked
himself to and fro, with his hands to his face, uttering occasional
groans. This was all so natural--for the natives of India suffer much from
neuralgia in the cold weather--that the sentry thought nothing of the
matter. He continued to pace his beat, turning back each time when within
a yard or two of the sufferer. The third time he did so the figure dropped
off his blanket, and, with a sudden bound, threw himself on the sentry's
back; at the same moment a Sepoy in uniform darted out from the tent. One
hand of the assailant--in which was a damp cloth--was pressed tightly over
the mouth and nostrils of the sentry; the other grasped the lock of his
musket, so that it could not be discharged. Thrown backward off his
balance, taken utterly by surprise, the sentry was unable even to
struggle, and in an instant the second antagonist plunged a bayonet twice
into his body, and he fell a lifeless mass on the ground. It was the work
of an instant to drag the body a yard or two into the shadow of the tent,
and before the other sentry appeared from the opposite side of the
prisoner's tent the native was rocking himself as before; the sentry,
wrapped in his cloak, was marching calmly on his beat. The whole affair
had lasted but twenty seconds, and had passed as noiselessly as a dream.

The next time the sentry in front was hidden from view the native started
from his sitting position and stole up behind the tent. Cautiously and
quietly he cut a slit in the canvas and entered. Then he knelt down by the
side of one of the sleepers, and kissed him. He moved in his sleep, and
his disturber, putting his hand on his mouth to prevent sudden speech,
shook him gently. The major opened his eyes.

"Father, it is I--Richard; hush! do not speak."