Ah!"
Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it is sad to
record that the White Hussars livelily exhibited un-Christian
delight and other emotions, hardly restrained by their sense of
hospitality. Holmer flung the frayed and yellow regimental rolls
on the table, and the men flung themselves at these.
"Steady! Fifty-six - fifty-five - fifty-four," said Holmer. "Here
we are. 'Lieutenant Austin Limmason. Missing.' That was before
Sebastopol. What an infernal shame! Insulted one of their
colonels, and was quietly shipped off. Thirty years of his life
wiped out."
"But he never apologised. Said he'd see him damned first,"
chorused the mess.
"Poor chap! I suppose he never had the chance afterwards. How did
he come here?" said the colonel.
The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer.
"Do you know who you are?"
It laughed weakly.
"Do you know that you are Limmason -Lieutenant Limmason of the
White Hussars?"
Swiftly as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised tone,
"Yes, I'm -Limmason, of course." The light died out in his eyes,
and the man collapsed, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with
terror. A flight from Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in
the mind, but it does not seem to lead to continuity of thought.
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