chairs, and on the
comfortable couch by the ample fire-place, while here and there were
trophies of foreign arms; peculiarly-shaped weapons lay on the
dressing-table, and formed the ornamentation of the chimney-piece.

In one corner of the room, carefully arranged and hung upon a stand, was
a strangely grotesque object, that, in the semi-darkness, somewhat
resembled a human figure, but proved to be the tarnished uniform worn by
the old officer--coatee, helmet, sword and belts gorgeous with
ornamentation, a pair of pistols with silver butts, and a small flag of
faded silk and gilt stuff were grouped over a gold embroidered saddle
and tarnished shabrack of Indian work.

Here, too, was one of the Indian figures of Buddha crouched upon an
enormous bracket at this side of the room, looking in the obscurity like
a living watcher of the dead, in an attitude of contemplation or prayer.

Ramo stood in the silent room, holding the silver candlestick above his
head, motionless as another statue, so much in keeping was he in his
garb and colour with the surroundings.

But he was keenly watching every one the while, and, taking his cue from
a mute question addressed by Mr Girtle's eyes to Paul Capel, he walked
solemnly to the head of the heavily hung bed, softly drew back one
curtain, and held the candle over his dead master's mortal remains.

Paul Capel felt a natural instinctive shrinking from approaching the
bed, but he did not hesitate, stepping forward with reverence, and even
then his heart gave a throb of satisfaction that one of his female
companions should have stepped calmly to his side.

Lying there as in a darkened tent, with a couple of Indian tulwars
crossed upon the bed's head, was a perfectly plain oaken coffin of
unusual size, and without the slightest ornamentation save that on the
lid, resting against the side, was a brass breastplate bearing the dead
man's name, age, and the date of death.

Within--wrapped in a rich robe of Indian fabric, glittering with flowers
wrought in gold thread--lay the Colonel, his face visible, and
presenting to those who gazed upon it for the first time, the fine
features of the old soldier, with his closely cut grey hair, ample
beard, and the scars of two sword cuts across brow and cheek.

There was no distortion. The old man, full of days, lay calmly asleep,
and Paul Capel bent down and kissed the icy brow.

When he rose his companion pressed forward, and, as he gave way,
i