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Updated: June 28, 2025
Sumbal's hand swings the portfire to the breech. Roy sees it, throws up his arms wildly, and with a cry "The bastion! The bastion! The Heir-to-Empire!" falls headlong into the Râjput's arms. "What did he say?" asked the master fireworker, pausing half surprised, half angry. But the Râjput was too busy tearing aside Roy's flimsy, bloodstained waistcoat to answer.
So that, little by little, Miss Portfire yielded up incident and personal observation of the contest then raging; with the same half-abstracted, half-unconcerned air that seemed habitual to her, she told the stories of privation, of suffering, of endurance, and of sacrifice. With the same assumption of timid deference that concealed her great self-control, she talked of principles and rights.
"Something about the bastion and the Heir-to-Empire, master!" said the sergeant doubtfully. "Mayhap 'twould be as well to wait till we can see more clearly. Kumran," he added in a lower voice, "would stick at naught " Sumbal hesitated, then put down the portfire and walked over to the fallen lad, beside whom the stranger was kneeling. "He is not dead!
As the fresh morning breeze caught the white canvas it seemed to bow a parting salutation. There was a rosy flash of promise on the water, and as the light craft darted forward toward the ascending sun, it seemed for a moment uplifted in its glory. Miss Portfire kept her word. If thoughtful care and intelligent kindness could regenerate the Princess, her future was secure.
I had been home a fortnight when my uncle, Sir Peregrine Portfire, to whom I had written shortly after my arrival, came down, and took up his quarters with us. Life under the old roof-tree was very quiet and uneventful, and nothing worthy of note occurred for the first six weeks of my stay.
Search was made within and without the hut, but in vain. For the first time that evening Miss Portfire showed some anxiety. "Go," she said to Barker, "and find her. She MUST be found; stay, give me your overcoat, I'll go myself." She threw the overcoat over her shoulders and stepped out into the night.
The rebels held the fort, and it was determined to assault it. Here is the record of the men who volunteered to lay the train to the Gate: "Salkfied laid his bags, but was shot through the arm and leg, and fell back on the bridge, handing the portfire to Sergeant Burgess, bidding him light the fuse. Burgess was instantly shot dead in the attempt.
Intellectually she was still feeble, although she grappled sturdily with the simple lessons which Miss Portfire set before her. But her zeal and simple vanity outran her discretion, and she would often sit for hours with an open book before her, which she could not read.
This question, fortunately for me, admitted of an easy solution. An uncle of my mother Sir Peregrine Portfire, K.B., Vice-admiral of the Red, etcetera, etcetera was applied to; and within a fortnight I was directed to join the "Scourge" forthwith.
"I spent a year in the hospitals, when father was on the Potomac," returned Miss Portfire, composedly. After a pause she continued: "You remember after the second Bull Run But, dear me! I beg your pardon; of course, you know nothing about the war and all that sort of thing, and don't care." Please don't let me bore you."
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