That night the weary troop took up their quarters again in the old building. The next day the Rajah came in state to ask them to return to the new building, and it was in the officers’ room that he spoke out frankly:

“Do not forsake me now,” he said, “because I was weak enough to believe all I did. I was always your friend, but you cannot understand the bitter fight I had against the Ranee, the mother I loved, and her friends and supporters. Think a minute,” he said; “I wanted to raise up my country and rule it as I knew the English did. I wanted to throw aside the vile old superstitions and oppression of the past, and immediately fully half of my people, headed by my mother, my dead father’s old generals and counsellors, and the whole of our priests, rose against me. It would have taken a stronger man than I am to fight that fight.”

“Yes,” said Hulton, “we know you have had a struggle, but—”

“Don’t condemn me.” cried the Rajah, smiling, “for being ignorant and weak. I want to learn.—Darrell, you will not turn against me?” he continued, holding out his hand.

“No, not I,” cried Dick frankly; “but it was precious hard, sir!”

“I know, I know,” cried the Rajah.—“Now, Captain Hulton, Captain Wyatt, and you, my dear wise old doctor friend, who saved my life at that awful time, let the past be forgotten.”

“Till there is another rising against us,” said Hulton bitterly.

“There will be no other rising against you,” cried the Rajah with energy. “The vile party that has fought against you is no more. It died with my bitter enemy, the Wazir, who meant to seize my throne; it died with the Brahmin power, which shall never raise its head against me now.”

“There is the Ranee—strongest of all,” said Hulton.

“The Ranee is dead,” said the Rajah solemnly.

“What!” came in a burst of horror from all present.

“No, no; I am no savage tyrant,” said the Rajah, smiling. “She is dead to power—dead to all influence here—and after what has passed she will fight no more. There, stay with me, and let this be like one of the ugly dreams from which I used to start when the doctor was saving me from that cruel poison. There is so much to do. See what you have already done. Those two regiments you raised, and my bodyguard. They were ready to fight for the English to the death, but they were doomed to slaughter for their truth. I have learned during this past night that they were to be surrounded and treacherously slain, and I suppose I was to be the next. Gentlemen, you and fate between you have crushed the Naga (cobra da capello) that was crawling up the side of my throne to sting the Rajah Maharajah of this land.”

“Who told you this?”

“The Ranee—my mother—on her knees. But you will stay?”

It needs no telling, neither is there space to tell, how high the English officers rose in their position at the Court of Soojeepur, nor how Robert Hanson was recommended to the Rajah as a suitable officer to take command of one of his native regiments of irregular horse. Let it suffice to say that years after, in the dark days of Britain’s peril, when the great Eastern Empire was slowly crumbling from her grasp, no native prince proved so true, nor rendered such earnest help with men and treasure, as the Maharajah of Soojeepur. His little army was in many a hard-won fight, and displayed a discipline and bravery that won praise from our greatest generals.

“It sounds like brag, Dick, old chap, but it isn’t,” said Wyatt one day when the Mutiny was over, while speaking to his faithful old friend, Colonel Darrell, head of the Maharajah’s contingent, about to return with him to England full of honours.

“What sounds like brag?” said Dick.

“For me to say that our little troop of horse artillery was the nucleus of the Rajah’s army, and that you and I made it what it is.”

“Hah!” said Dick, “I’m sorry poor old Hulton was invalided home. As fine a gunner as ever stepped.”

“He was,” said Colonel Wyatt, “a splendid soldier, sir. But he was only with us at the beginning, not more than six months. ’Pon my word, old fellow, I think without brag it was we.”

Colonel Darrell sat gazing straight before him for some moments, and then he brought his fist down hard upon the table on either side of which they sat.

“No,” he said loudly. “Palmam qui meruit ferat.”

“My dear boy!” cried Wyatt, puckering up his forehead, “don’t scatter Latin all over the place. Good old English will do.”

“Very well, then, we will not brag about what we did, but stick the feather in the right man’s cap.”

“Whose?” cried Wyatt eagerly.

“That of old Sergeant Stubbs.”

“And the brave Englishmen who fought and died.”

The End.