"He will be left alone, and he knows my signal--his own device--THREE TAPS AT HIS WINDOW! In Delhi there only lingered, sad and lonely, Major Harry Hardwicke, whose sighs were echoed back from afar by a starry-eyed girl watching the sandy shores of the Suez Canal.
"I dare not telegraph to him till we reach Brindisi," mused the loving girl.

"After that our path will be plain, and Justine MUST help me! Then he can follow me--if he loves me!" She faltered, hiding her blushing face.

The only comforter of the lonely Hardwicke was "Rattler Murray." Red Eric, of the Eighth Lancers, had just fallen into a pot of money.
"Take your long leave, my boy!" he cried.

"I've been nine long years a Lieutenant! I'll have my troop before my leave is out! And there's a loving lass awaiting me! One I love--one who loves me--one you must know, for you must be the 'best man'!" "Wait, only wait a couple of weeks, Eric!" said the Major, whose eyes were now turned daily to Simpson.

"Then I'll put in my own application, and we'll go home together." This bright hope was duly pledged in many a loving cup.
General Abercromby was far away on the road to Calcutta when Major-General Willoughby sent, posthaste, for Major Harry Hardwicke of the Corps of Engineers.