Gordon laughed.

"I am a fool, certainly," he said. "Ever since I heard of it, I have
fancied a strange, faint kind of smell everywhere, which is absurd
enough."

"I will make you a camphor-bag," said my mother, "that ought to
overpower any faint smell, and it is a charm against infection."

I believe Mr. Gordon was beginning to thank her, but his words ended in
a sort of inarticulate groan. He stood on his feet, though not upright,
and at last said feebly, "I beg your pardon, I don't feel quite well."

"You're upset, old fellow; it's quite natural," said my father. "Come
and get some brandy, and you shall come back for the camphor."

My father led him away, but he did not come back. My father took him to
his quarters, and sent the surgeon to him; and my mother took me on her
knee, and sat silent for a long time, with the unfinished camphor-bag
beside her.

The next day I went to the end of our compound with Ayah, to see the
Colonel's funeral pass. The procession seemed endless. The horse he had
ridden two days before by my mother's side tossed its head fretfully,
as the "Dead March" wailed, and the slow tramp of feet poured endlessly
on. My mother was looking out from the verandah. As Ayah and I joined
her, a native servant, who was bringing something in, said abruptly,
"Gordon Sahib--he dead too."

When my father returned from the funeral he found my mother in a panic.
Some friends had lately invited her to stay with them, and she was now
resolved to go. "I am sure I shall die if I stay here!" she cried, and
it ended in her going away at once. There was some difficulty as to
accommodating me and Ayah, and it was decided that, if necessary, we
should follow my mother later.

For my own part, I begged to remain. I had no fear of cholera, and I was
anxious to dine with my father on my birthday, as he had promised that I
should.

It was on the day before my birthday that one of the surgeons was
buried. The man next in rank to the poor Colonel was on leave, and the
regiment was commanded by our friend Major Buller, whose little
daughters were invited to spend the following evening with me. The
Major, my father, and two other officers had been pall-bearers at the
funeral. My father came to me on his return. He was slightly chilled,
and said he should remain indoors; so I had him all to myself, and we
were very happy, though he complained of fatigue, and fell asleep once
on the floor with his head in my lap. He wa