Now, good luck
to you, Juggut Khan. And if you should get through alive--I'll pay
you the compliment of admitting that you won't come through without
the women, and I know that Brown won't--if you should have luck, and
should happen to get through, why, look for me at Harumpore, or elsewhere
to the northward of it. I start with my division in an hour."
"Salaam, sahib!" said Rajput, rising and standing at the salute.
"Salaam, Juggut Khan! Take any food, or drink, or clothing that
you want. Good-by, and your good luck ride with you. I feel like
a murderer, but I know I've done the best that can be done!"
VI.
Now if Sergeant Brown possessed a sweetheart, and the sweetheart lived
in England, and if Brown still loved her--as has already been more
than hinted at--it is not at all unreasonable to wonder why he had
no likeness of her, no news of her, nothing but her memory around
which to weave the woof of sentiment--at least, it's not unreasonable
so to wonder in this late year of grace.
Then, though, in 1857, when a newspaper cost threepence or thereabouts,
and schools were so far from being free that only the sons of gentlemen
(and seldom the daughters of even gentlemen, remember) attended them,
the art of reading was not so common as it now is.
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