CHAPTER XVI.

HOT-WEATHER SOCIETY.

A FEW days later came one of the weekly gatherings at the Maxwells'. Mary was "at home" on Wednesdays-the attractions were music, talk, and ice from nine till eleven p.m.

These evenings were, in general, well attended, and were very bright and gay; but this special one partook of the general stagnation that had come over everything but frontier politics for a week or two past. Almost every one who could get away had gone to the hills; and those who stayed, lived shut up at home, rising too early to have any energy left after nine p.m. So it was only a small gathering, some eight or nine; and they were talking in twos and threes near the open doorways, and seemed to have no heart for music. Mary herself looked worn, and

well might do so, for she had had little rest and much watching for several days past. The little Hugh was ailing, with one of the uncertain, indefinite illnesses well known to mothers of teething babies in hot climates; and his mother was on the horns of a painful dilemma, between her anxiety for him, and her fear of being sent off to the hills with him, away from her husband.

The party consisted of Colonel Craven and Ida; of course the Maxwells; a Captain and Mrs. Mitford, she a rather sleepy, stupid woman, lacking equally in waist and backbone, but with hidden depths of vigour, which appeared mainly in the discussion of other peoples' affairs; he, the old school commandant of a battery of heavy guns, a tough soldier in the field, but given to tiffins and domestic ease in times of peace, and the very despair of the adjutant of the division, Captain Hammond, who was also of the party. He was a quiet, soldierly

looking man, close shaven, dark, almost oppressively neat, a great friend of Maxwell's, whose interest in their mutual profession he rivalled, but of whose eager, enthusiastic nature he in no way partook. They were discussing things regimental in an open doorway; in particular a sad case of suicide which had occurred in Maxwell's battery the previous night, and which had been investigated by a court of inquiry that day. A little farther in the room were Arthur Craven and Walter Stanley, Lieutenant-Colonel and Commandant of the 50th Punjab Irregular Cavalry, commonly called, after him, "Stanley's Horse." Stanley and Craven had been subalterns together, they had liked each other well years before, and had met from time to time in their respective careers, and the acquaintance was always renewed with pleasure. Stanley had shown the qualities of a fine soldier from the very first, and now his was one of the best known names in

the roll of Indian irregular horsemen. Personal courage that was almost recklessness, a firm hand, a keen eye, a perfect familiarity with two or three border tongues besides the essential Hindustani and Persian, a will of iron, and a power of graceful courtesy, were among his qualifications for the post he held. To these may be added, a thorough comprehension of and manly sympathy with his men, and a memory for names and faces. He, did his own recruiting in a great measure, which gave the younger men a feeling that they were his personal followers. He would ride down the north-western frontier of the Punjab, and down the Dera Jat, for these were the localities he had chosen to draw his men from. He would spend two or three weeks about it; and of the boy warriors who would come flocking to him as soon as his presence was rumoured, would chose the most likely ones. Sometimes, on these expeditions, he would pass

a day or two in the round tower of some petty chieftain, hunting and hawking with the father or uncle, while he observed the qualifications of the aspirants for military service, and would bring away the most promising young fellows to his ranks. These men were gentlemen, and Stanley and his officers always treated them as such.

Of all the means of swaying the hearts of these rough and wild but well-born soldiers, none stood Stanley in better stead than courtesy. It was nature in him, but the men valued it as they would not have valued riches.

In Hugh

Linwood, Stanley had a heart; and as

follower after his

Own

adjutant he was invaluable. Hugh kept all matters of discipline and drill right, slaved away manfully at the paper work, and left his chief free for the more congenial task of keeping the men in hand, "the human side of the thing" as he