Some seven or eight officers were sitting round the table in the messroom of the 103d Bengal Infantry at Cawnpore.

It had been a guest night, but the strangers had left, the lights had been turned out in the billiard room overhead, the whist party had broken up, and the players had rejoined three officers who had remained at table smoking and talking quietly.
Outside, through the open French windows, the ground looked as if sprinkled with snow beneath the white light of the full moon.

Two or three of the mess servants were squatting in the veranda, talking in low voices.

A sentry walked backwards and forwards by the gate leading into the mess house compound; beyond, the maidan stretched away flat and level to the low huts of the native lines on the other side.
"So the Doctor comes back tomorrow, Major," the Adjutant, who had been one of the whist party, said.

"I shall be very glad to have him back.
In the first place, he is a capital fellow, and keeps us all alive; secondly, he is a good deal better doctor than the station surgeon who has been looking after the men since we have been here; and lastly, if I had got anything the matter with me myself, I would rather be in his hands than those of anyone else I know." "Yes, I agree with you, Prothero; the Doctor is as good a fellow as ever stepped.