“Did you see the Mem Sahib?”
“Yes, Sahib," said the good fellow, “I saw herself in person.”
“Well, and how did she look, and what had she to say to you?”
In his estimation, how she looked, and what she said, were all summed up in one fact.
“Sahib, when I gave her your chittee (letter) she was clothed in black, but when she read the chittee she immediately went into another room, and soon came back to me dressed all in white.”
The affectionate wife and husband fully comprehended each other's feelings in that action, and we at Nynee Tal rejoiced with her that day that so providentially gave her “the oil of joy for mourning and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” It was six months and more before they were able to meet, but they could henceforward live in the hope of being again united in life and love together. There was one less on our mall from that day forward who wore mourning.
Coming down the hill from our Thursday afternoon prayer-meeting one day, a military officer who had been present sought the opportunity of a private interview, and with much feeling he said to me:
“O, sir, permit me to thank you from my heart for the earnest prayers which you put up to God this afternoon for the victory of my country's arms!”
I looked at the man and smiled; asked him if we were not in “the same boat” just then, or whether he thought it likely that those wretches down there would pay more respect to my Stars and Stripes than to his English ensign?
So we lived, and watched, and prayed. Meanwhile the terrible news of the Sepoy Rebellion had reached the shores of Europe and America. England was nerving her energies for our relief. Troops and munitions of war were being prepared as fast as possible. A General, supposed equal to the emergency, was found in Sir Colin Campbell, for two Commanders-in-Chief had already fallen, (Generals Anson and Barnard,) and the little English army in India was without a head. The Queen telegraphed to Sir Colin,
