Angel by B.M. Croker

CAPTAIN SHAFTO was taking tea with Mrs. Gordon in the great important looking drawing-room, which befitted the wife of a Commissioner, and future Lieutenant-Governor. She was, although five-and-thirty, a strikingly attractive woman, with sweet dark eyes, a sympathetic voice, a graceful carriage, and supreme tact. On the other hand, Billy Shafto's beauty had been somewhat tarnished by several bad "go's" of fever, a series of hot seasons in the plains, and roughing it on an Afghan campaign, but he was still good-looking, popular, and unmarried. As his hostess was about to add sugar to his tea, a telegram was brought to her by a scarlet chuprassi, and presented with a deep salaam.

She picked it carelessly off the salver, and, glancing at it, said, "It is probably from Donald to say he cannot be home till to-morrow-the new assessment is so tedious." But as she read the telegram she gave a little gasp, and said, "From Major Gascoigne. You"-and she looked at it again-"will never guess what it's about."