well 'most as little Dick."

"Nay!" cried a boyish voice from the darkness.

"Well, tidy enough; and then we could hear them bringing out the horses,
and limbering up and forming up in the barrack yard, sir, till I could
bear it no longer, and I risked the bullets so as to get a peep now and
then; and I did till, with everything in order, and the ammunition
chests and waggons crammed, they rode out of the yard, with the people
yelling and tom-tomming like mad."

"But who--who did all this? The sepoys of the native regiment?"

"No, sir," cried the sergeant.

"Then who did?"

"The syces, sir."

"What?"

"The whole gang of them, sir; led by Ny Deen."

"What?" said Brace again.

"It has been a plot, sir, all slowly worked out. That Ny Deen is some
big chief, from his ways to-day; and others with him are somebodies.
They've been watching our drill, and quietly learning everything, till
the time came, and then, at some word of command, they rushed in,
carried all before them; and, after a way, they've gone off with guns,
ammunition, and every horse except the officers', which somehow they
overlooked."

"Is this some horrible dream?" panted Brace.

"No, sir; but horrid wide-awake truth," said the sergeant, sadly.
"Twenty-two of our men cut up, and as fine a troop of horses and battery
of guns gone as there is in the army; and as for me, sir, I feel as if I
was that disgraced, that if I'd had a carbine, I believe I should have
gone up in some corner, said a bit of a prayer, and then--good-bye to it
all, and shot myself dead."

"But the sentries?" said Brace, after an interval, during which we had
stood as if utterly crushed by the news. "They could not have been
doing their duty."

"Nay, sir, but they were," said the sergeant, speaking with energy now,
the last words he had uttered having been in a hoarse, broken voice,
which told of his sorrow and despair. "Poor chaps! they saw a party of
syces coming toward them in white--men they knew well enough. Was it
likely, sir, that they'd think them enemies?"

"No," said Brace, sadly. "Poor lads! poor lads!"

"God save the Queen, sir!" cried the sergeant, hysterically, for the
poor fellow was utterly broken down, "and long life to one's officers,
whom I for one would follow anywhere, even to certain death. Yes; I'd
have followed him, poor chap. But it was his doing, sir, and the likes
of him; and I'll say it now, even if I'm court-martialled for it.
Lieut