THE STAR OF INDIA

EDWARD S. ELLIS, A.M.

CHICAGO:
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1888.

By Edward S. Ellis, A.M.

TO MY CHILDREN
LILLIAN, WILMOT, MIRIAM AND HELEN,
Each a "Star of India" to me,
THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.

INDEX.

CHAPTER.

I. "A Man May Smile and Smile, and be a Villain Still."
II. Luchman
III. Within Delhi
IV. On the Threshold
V. The Opening Tragedy
VI. An Incident by the Way
VII. The Pursuit
VIII. In the Garden
IX. "The Inglese Loge!"
X. Ali Khan
XI. The Cashmere Gate
XII. Proclamation of the Mogul Empire
XIII. A Model Commune
XIV. Toward Kurnal
XV. The Star of India
XVI. "No, Sahib, Not I."
XVII. The Burra Bagh
XVIII. George Harkins
XIX. Carried Northward
XX. A Failure
XXI. One Incident of Many
XXII. The Ghoojurs
XXIII. The Ruined Temple
XXIV. Wana Affghar of Puneput
XXV. Buktar Sing
XXVI. A Couple of Shots
XXVII. A Grim Sentinel
XXVIII. "I Did Not Say That, Sahib."
XXIX. An Intruder
XXX. The Last Resort
XXXI. The Pledge
XXXII. The Ransom
XXXIII. Asiatic Honor
XXXIV. Too Late
XXXV. Eureka
XXXVI. From Darkness to Dawn
XXXVII. From Dawn to Daylight
XXXVIII. Salaam

THE STAR OF INDIA.

CHAPTER I.

"A MAN MAY SMILE AND SMILE, AND BE A VILLAIN STILL."

One morning in the month of April, 1857, Baird Avery, an assistant surgeon in the employ of the Honorable East India Company, was on his way to Delhi, the ancient capital of the Emperors of Hindostan, and at that time the residence of the royal pauper known as the "Great Mogul" of the Empire.

The distance which the young gentleman had to travel was near one thousand miles, and he was fairly upon the frightful hot season, during which the thermometer creeps up day after day to over one hundred in the shade, and stands at one hundred and forty in the flaming sun.

Avery left the metropolis of British India on the Hooghly nearly two months before, and had traveled leisurely to the northwest since that time. Most of his journey was made by the Ganges in a budgerow, a craft of some fifty tons burden, one half of which consists of a decked cabin, several small rooms and awning. The front of the vessel was occupied the crew, including a manjee, or steersman, and eight dandies or boatmen, whose duties were to work the sails, or row or drag the vessel as necessity required.

Avery was now in the neighborhood of Cawnpore, and was journeying by dawk or palanquin, a slow but pleasant means of conveyance, and one that has been long peculiar to the country.

The box-like structure was borne on the shoulders of four men, with the same number walking beside them, ready to serve their turn. The palanquin was large enough to allow the occupant to stretch out at full length on the well stuffed mattress, covered with morocco leather, while a shelf and drawer contained books, a telescope, writing material and a bottle of diluted brandy.

In the morning the heat became so intolerable that a halt was generally made at the roadside in the shade of a friendly grove of mangoes, or at some bungalow, where the traveler awaited the lesser heat of evening before moving forward again. The greater part of the trip, therefore, was performed at night, when a Mussalchee ran by the side of the palanquin with a lighted torch to guide the bearers through the jungles. Wild animals and serpents were kept away by the flare of these torches and the shouting of the natives.

Avery had visited this section more than once before, and it was his intention to repeat a call upon a Rajah, between whom and himself a strong friendship existed. This Rajah had for some time attracted attention by his pretensions to the title and possessions of his adopted father Bajee Rao. Leaving his palanquin by the wayside, the surgeon went forward, up a broad avenue, on the right of which was a well preserved parterre. Reaching a house built for a former Commissioner, he sat down and sent forward his favorite attendant, Luchman, with his compliments to the Rajah, and a request to know at what hour it would be agreeable to receive a call.

The response was overwhelming. Three of the most distinguished attendants of the pretender, accompanied by an escort of native sowars on prancing steeds and with drawn swords and brilliant uniforms, came down the driveway, covered with cunka (a sort of clayey marl), at a showy pace, and halted in front of the young surgeon, who was waiting to receive them.

They were sent, as he was informed, in answer to his message, and the Rajah, in the usual extravagant language of the Orient, begged the favor of the gentlemen's company at the palace in the evening, when the air would be cool.

Left to himself, Avery spent the hours in looking over the grounds, while the palanquin bearers, having traveled all night, withdrew to cook their food for the morning meal, after which they passed the time in smoking their hookahs and in sleep. These fellows with their scant clothing and bronzed skins could have withstood the fervor of the Asiatic sun for hours when a European would have succumbed in a few minutes.

Just as the sun was setting, a gaudily caparisoned elephant, crowned with a towering howdah (the ordinary box-like saddle) swung down the avenue to the Commissioner's house, and Avery climbed to the seat by means of a small ladder. He was then borne through a score of bazars and native streets to the house of the Rajah, who was seated upon a charpoy or native bedstead made of wood, with feet highly gilded. His dress was of white muslin, consisting of two coats of that material and a drapery of muslin with a fanciful border. His turban was of the same light fabric, through which golden thread was interwoven.

The instant the Rajah caught sight of his visitor, he extended his hand. Avery made a graceful salaam, and felt a thrill of genuine regard for the barbarian, whose coppery face seemed to glow with delight because of his visit. Since the Rajah spoke only Hindustani he was obliged to employ his moonshee.

"Rajah sahib salaam. Ap ka mizay kaisa hai?" (Peace to you, honorable sir. How is your temper today?)

"I have hastened hither," was the response of the guest. "I have come a long way to grasp your hand."

The Rajah smiled when Avery uttered the sentences I have given in pure Hindustani, but since they included about all that the young gentleman understood of that language, the services of the moonshee were not cast aside.

"Will not my brother live with me always?" asked the host; "then the tears shall never come to my eyes."

"Great would be my happiness could I do so," replied Avery, who felt no compunctions in drawing the long bow; "but my Queen will not permit me to accept your gracious hospitality."

"Your Queen is the greatest and best of earth; I love her and her children, the Inglese. 'Twould be my heart's delight to be their servant all my life."

"That could not be, for the Rajah is her brother."

The eyes of the Rajah sparkled when this remark was translated to him, and there could be no doubt that it gave him much pleasure, for it was a tacit recognition of his claim as a ruler, which the East India Company would never admit.

The host was a little more than thirty years of age, with sallow complexion, strong, coarse features, with head and face closely shaven after the fashion with all Mahrattas, and he was quite fat, his corpulence being the unhealthy bloat of the Eastern voluptuary.

In his distant home in Calcutta, Baird Avery had heard of the mutterings in the Bengal Presidency, caused by the spread of the report among the sepoys that the cartridges for their new Enfield rifles, furnished them by the British government, had been prepared with the grease of the hog, abominated by the Mussulmans, and that of the cow, the sacred animal of the Hindoos. He sought to draw out his host, who, he hoped, would speak the truth, since he had some grounds for complaint because of the treatment he had received from the East India Company.

"Is it true that among the sepoys and natives there is dissatisfaction with the rule of the Inglese?"

"They never knew happiness until you came across the ocean and ruled our country for us. We are happy and content."

This sounded like oriental exaggeration, but the speaker was the picture of sincerity when he spoke the words, which he immediately followed with the remark:

"Evil persons have spread reports among the sepoys which are all falsehoods."

The Rajah, who had caused his hookah to be filled and lighted, bowed his head several times by way of emphasizing his last remark.

"It gives me great happiness to hear the words of my beloved friend Maharajah, and our blessed Queen will be pleased to receive such assurances from her brother."

"We will stop the lies; we will not allow the best queen and the most virtuous people in the world to be slandered; we are ready to lay down our lives that we may but gain a smile from the illustrious ruler. 'Tis my prayer night and day that the way may be opened for me to prove my devotion to her and her people."

The conversation went on in this fashion for an hour, when Avery made his salaam and withdrew, borne by the same gaudily caparisoned elephant and attended by the same showy escort that had brought him thither.

"I wonder whether there can be any foundation for the rumors that are in the air of Calcutta, of an impending revolt of the sepoys. Can it be that the whole country is on the verge of mutiny? Possibly such is the fact, but if the tempest of fire and blood comes we are sure of one friend, the Maharajah; nothing can swerve him from his loyalty to the Queen."

Now, let it be known that the Rajah from whom Baird Avery had just parted was Nana Dhoonda Pant, known in history as Nana Sahib, the most perfidious wretch since the days of Judas Iscariot. And yet, fiend as he proved himself to be by his massacre of the women and children at Cawnpore, only a few weeks after this interview, the Nana had his grounds for his fierce hatred of the British government.

Bajee Rao, the Peishwa of Poona, was the last ruler of one of those Mahratta dynasties which for centuries had shared the sovereignty of the Central Highlands and the plunder of all Hindostan. He was so vicious that the East India Company dethroned him, confiscated his territories, and forced him to take up his residence at Bithoor, a small town up the river from Cawnpore. His allowance was four hundred thousand dollars annually, enough to afford the old voluptuary all the magnificence, ease, amusement and enjoyment for which he yearned.

The Mahratta had one grief; he was without a son to inherit his possessions and to apply the torch to his funeral pyre. He therefore adopted a son, to whom, by the Hindoo law, belonged all the rights and privileges of an heir born of the body. This son was the one upon whom Baird Avery made his call in the month of April, 1857. Bajee Rao died in 1851, and Nana demanded a continuance of the pension which his adopted father had received from the Company, but it was refused. Although Nana was possessed of great wealth, he never forgave the Inglese for their treatment. But he dissembled well, and no one suspected the treachery of the wretch, until he plunged heart and soul into the sepoy mutiny and proved himself the nearest approach to a fiend ever attained by a human being.

CHAPTER II.

LUCHMAN.

A few days later, Dr. Baird Avery found himself nearing the great city of Delhi, led by an attraction like that of the lodestone for the steel. It was there that the missionary, Reverend Francis Hildreth, lived with his family, consisting of his wife and daughter Marian; and twice during the past three years had the young surgeon gained a leave of absence, extended enough to allow him to spend several weeks in the society of the delightful old gentleman and wife and still more delightful daughter.

He had formed the acquaintance of the family on the steamer Marlborough, of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, while making the passage from England to India. The voyage up the Mediterranean, sometimes so monotonous, was charming in this instance, and the mutual interest of the surgeon and daughter deepened until with the consent of the parents, Marian became the betrothed of Dr. Avery, though the circumstances were such that the date of their marriage hovered uncertainly in the future.

In pushing toward Delhi, the palanquin bearers had been changed several times. Luchman was what is known as a bearer, that is a sort of valet or body escort who had accompanied Avery all the way from Calcutta, whither he was sent by the missionary, Mr. Hildreth, for that purpose.

It was this fact which led the occupant of the palanquin to look upon the native with special liking, though he could not free himself of a certain distrust, when the serpent-like eyes of Luchman that were fixed upon him, darted aside with lightning quickness as the sahib turned toward him. What strange thoughts were stirring within that bronzed skull were known only to the sepoy, who took care that they should be known to no one else.

Luchman had been a high caste Hindoo, who, converted through the labors of the missionary, prayed the latter to take him into his service. He was tall, thin to emaciation, very dark, with a long curved mustache, which, like his eyes, was of intense blackness. He was muscular and agile, and it seemed to Avery was inclined to be moody and sullen.

The dress of Luchman was of a mongrel character. He wore the dhotee, consisting of a single breadth of muslin, folded in heavy pleats around the loins, and descending gracefully to the ankles. The upper part of the body was almost entirely covered with a coat of muslin. Despite the blistering sun of India, many of the Bengalis go bare headed, but Luchman was never without his turban, gathered and folded with a skill scarcely admitting of description.

In obedience to a feeling that this converted Hindoo was to play an important part in near events, Dr. Avery tried hard to gain his confidence. He was a master of the English tongue, and the surgeon offered him a liberal sum to instruct him in Hindustani. The proud fellow refused the proposition with something like scorn, and was so sparing of his words that the Englishman learned more from the other natives than from him.

It would have been better for the surgeon's peace of mind had he been entirely ignorant of the Hindustani language, for now and then he caught an expression among the palanquin bearers which bore some relation to the coming trouble in India, but it was impossible to hear or rather to understand enough to discover what was meant. Had he known more he would have learned something definite; had he known less, he would not have been alarmed; as it was, he was exasperated because of his helplessness.

The sun still flamed with unbearable splendor, when early in the morning the palanquin was set down at the side of the highway leading to Delhi, it being the purpose of Dr. Avery to follow his usual custom of resuming his journey in the evening. Not unnaturally, the nearer he approached the home of his betrothed the greater became his haste. He made his way into the bungalow or rest house furnished by the government for travelers, and enjoyed a refreshing bath. Breakfast was furnished by the khansaman, who, on observing the palanquin in the distance, had hurriedly seized two of the fowls that were dozing contentedly in the shade of the veranda, wrung their necks, plunged them into a pot of boiling water, and by the time the sahib was ready, placed them before him in a most savory dish.

Avery now reclined lazily in a long wicker chair, on the veranda, from which the scorching wind was shut out by heavy grass tatties, completely inclosing the three sides and softening the glare in a way that was conducive to a siesta. He was sinking in that state of delicious languor in which he cared little for what was going on around him, and yet all his senses were at an unusual tension. In the dim twilight by which he was infolded, he became aware that another person was on the veranda, and standing within a few paces of him. He had not heard him approach, though he was sure he would have detected the gliding of a serpent over the parched grass outside.

In the same second that the figure of a man took shape in the faint light before him, Avery became as wide awake as when hunting tigers in the jungle. He saw that the intruder was Luchman, who was standing motionless and looking intently at him. Without opening his eyes any wider and without any start or sign of fright, the surgeon moved his hand in a lazy accidental way to his side, until it rested on the handle of his revolver at his hip. Then he felt safe.

The native might leap upon him with the quickness of a serpent, but Avery would meet him half way with a bullet from his pistol. No untamed cowboy from the plains of Texas could "get the drop" on an antagonist more promptly than could the surgeon.

"Well, Luchman, what is it?" asked Avery, slowly opening his eyes and yawning as if annoyed that he should be disturbed.

"Sahib, is the daughter of the missionary in Delhi to be your wife?"

This question was the amazing answer to the query of Dr. Avery, who however showed no surprise, as he said:

"Since you seem interested, I am proud to declare that with the approval of Heaven she shall be my wife: have you any objections to offer?"

The Sepoy was as impervious to a sense of humor as was Osceola, the Seminole, when he drove his hunting knife with such force into the paper containing the hated treaty that the implement went through the table also. Luchman was never seen to smile. He continued to look sharply into the face of the surgeon, who had come to distrust him so thoroughly that the latter straightened up in his seat and still kept his hand on his pistol.

"He is a scoundrel;" was his thought; "he was standing there and considering the best way of killing me, when he discovered that I was not asleep. I don't see why he should hesitate. He carries a knife as sharp as the sword of Saladin, and one sweep with that would have been enough. He needn't have any fear of the khansaman and the others are in with him."

Dr. Avery with his senses still strung to the keenest point, became aware of a peculiarity in the action of Luchman that was significant. While staring so fixedly at the surgeon, he occasionally darted a quick glance to the left, as though he was looking and listening for the approach of some one.

"He is waiting for the rest," was the conclusion of Avery, "because he hasn't enough courage to attack me alone. Well, both my revolvers are loaded, and if they want to make things lively, I think I can give them a little help."

Luchman stepped into the door of one of the rooms opening on the veranda, and still looking at Dr. Avery, silently beckoned with his finger for him to follow. The surgeon did so without hesitation, half suspecting that the palanquin bearers were crouching within and awaiting the chance to spring upon him, but the certainty of his two loaded revolvers being within instant call was a great solace. He was an expert pistol shot, and he did not mean to be taken unprepared.

"Where are the palanquin bearers?" asked Avery, as he reached the open door and saw Luchman in the faint light standing in the middle of the room, a sweeping glance having satisfied him that no one else was in the apartment.

"They have gone, sahib," was the answer of Luchman. "If they come back it will be to kill you. They hate you. They hate all the Inglese. They would try to kill me if they knew I was your friend. But I have something else to tell you."

"I am listening."

"Sahib, the daughter of the missionary will never be your wife."

"Why not?"

"You, sahib, will never see her again."

Dr. Avery flushed. All disposition to jest was gone, and he was indignant that this native dare utter an expression that sounded very like a threat.

"How dare you show such insolence to me? Do you imagine that you and all your brother scoundrels are strong enough to turn me back? Naught but the will of Heaven itself shall keep me from entering Delhi tomorrow, and seeing my intended wife face to face."

But the young surgeon was in error. Luchman did not mean to threaten, but to warn him of a danger which as yet was only dimly suspected.

"This is the month of May, sahib," said the native, looking him quietly in the face and paying no heed to his angry words, "and on the last day there will be a rising of the Mussulmans and Hindoos of India. All the regiments will turn on their English officers and kill them, their wives and children. The Mogul Empire will be proclaimed, and the Raj of the English will be rooted out of Hindostan."

These were fearful words, and the native was sincere, though why he should have taken this means of making known, or why he should have made known the impending revolt at all, was more than Dr. Avery could understand.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" he asked.

"I did not know the date fixed for the rising until last night, when by chance I overheard some words between the palanquin wallahs. It is their wish to kill you tonight."

"I don't doubt it. How do you feel on that question?"

"Sahib, I am the friend of the missionary and his family; you are their friend."

This was Luchman's way of expressing his good will toward the Englishman, who, it cannot be said, was strongly impressed by his words.

"What are your intentions?" asked the latter.

"Sahib, I shall go to Delhi and give up my life in the hope that I may save the missionary and his family."

"And what do you expect me to do?"

The brown face of the native was eclipsed by what seemed a passing cloud of regret, as he answered:

"You must turn back, sahib. At the cantonment of Lucknow, or Cawnpore, or Allahabad you will find friends; you can die with them."

It was clear that Luchman looked upon the other as doomed beyond all hope, and he was in earnest in urging him to withdraw to one of the points named, where he could perish in the company of his countrymen.

"Why, then, shall I not go to Delhi, now so near at hand, and share the lot of my friends there?"

"Because your going there will make their danger greater; they may be saved if you keep away, but if you go they cannot."

This struck Dr. Avery as a heartless view of the situation, but he saw its meaning. Luchman so loved the missionary and his family that he was willing to give up his life for them. While he may have wished the young surgeon well, he was not concerned to an extent that would lead him to neglect those in Delhi; and looking upon him as the sailor whose additional weight is sure to sink the overladen craft, he wished to throw him overboard so as to save the rest.

Dr. Avery saw that his presence in Delhi might complicate matters and add to the peril of that loved family. If by withdrawing and taking to the mofussil, or interior of the country, he could improve their chance of escape, it was clearly his duty to do so.

But what true lover can be persuaded that his absence from his sweetheart is better than his presence with her? Avery did not believe the native was honest in what he had said.

"God speed you in your effort to befriend them! I am sure they need all that you can do; make haste, therefore, and never leave them till they are safe beyond the reach of those who clamor for their lives."

"What will you, sahib, do?"

"I will do the best to take care of myself. If I am doomed to die, it may be some consolation to have company. Will you take a letter for me to the daughter of the missionary?"

"It shall be done."

Tearing several leaves from his note book, Dr. Avery wrote the particulars of the interview between himself and the native, and added:

Despite his prohibition, I shall do my best to reach your city and hope to be on the heels of him who delivers this to you. I cannot believe it is better to be away from you. I credit Luchman's words when he says the whole sepoy force intends to rise, which renders it the more necessary that friends should unite for protection. If I fail to reach you it will be because my utmost efforts were useless; and whether failure or success awaits me, be assured, my dearest Marian, that my last thoughts were of you. Though separated here, God will unite us in the great hereafter. BAIRD.

While writing this note, the surgeon had stepped back on the veranda, because he needed more light than was in the dim room. He now advanced to where Luchman had awaited him, as immovable as a stone image, and asked:

"Why did you bring me in here, Luchman?"

"The palanquin wallahs, sahib, might have crept up and heard what we said, or the khansaman might have passed near."

"Well, here is my letter; will you hand it to the daughter of the missionary?"

"Be shaqq." (Without doubt.)

With a few graceful turns the voluminous turban about Luchman's head was unwound and from the interior he drew a small package done around with heavy but soft paper.

"Sahib, this is a nazr (present) for her, and since she will value your letter more than the other I will put them together."

"What have you there?" asked the astonished surgeon.

"I will show you, sahib: it is the STAR OF INDIA."

"And what the mischief is that?"

"Dekhna!" (Behold!)

As the native spoke, the envelope of paper dropped off and he threw up his hand until it was on a level with his own eyes. Between the thumb and forefinger, the others elevated so as to be out of the way, he held poised the most marvelous diamond that Baird had ever looked upon.

The wonderful gem was cut in rose form, and could not have weighed less than fifty carats, almost one half of the famous Koh-i-noor, while its brilliancy was like that of the great Pitt diamond. Luchman caused his hand, while apparently immovable, to tremble slightly so that it glowed and scintillated under the eye of the spectator as if it were luminous.

A ray of light, straggling through a crack in the tattie screen, struck the diamond, and Avery, changing his own position so as to relieve his vision, saw all the colors of the rainbow shooting forth and radiating from the dazzling gem. Some of the rays were short, while others darted outward for several feet. At times it was as if the native was holding an electric burner between his thumb and finger, and then the whole gem glowed with the intense brightness of a star.

"Well! well! where in the name of the seven wonders did you get that?" asked the astounded spectator; "it surpasses any gem I ever saw; it ranks among the great diamonds of the world; it is worth four lacs of rupees."

"Sahib, it is not mine," replied Luchman, as he began wrapping the paper around that and the missive.

More than once, Avery was on the point of asking the privilege of holding the diamond for a moment in his palm, but doubtful whether such permission would be given, he silently watched the native who folded his turban and its precious contents on his head.

This done, Luchman paused long enough to advise the doctor as to the best course to take to avoid his enemies, after which he bade him good by and started toward Delhi, in the hope of befriending those who were in sore need of help.

CHAPTER III.

WITHIN DELHI.

Imperial Delhi contains nearly a quarter of a million of people, and the modern city is all of seven miles in circumference. There was a time when its population was tenfold greater. It was captured and plundered in 1011 by Mahmond; in 1398 by Tamerlane; in 1525 by Baber, who overthrew the Patan dynasty and inaugurated that of the Moguls; in 1739 it was pillaged by Nadir Shah, who sat in the mosque of Boshun ud Dowlah (near the Jumma Musjeed, the most magnificent place of Mussulman worship in India), and saw a hundred thousand of the inhabitants massacred.

Delhi is surrounded by an embattled wall with numerous bastions and intervening martello towers, faced along the entire extent with massive masonry, which many years ago was strengthened by the addition of a moat and glacis.

Within this city at the date of the sepoy mutiny dwelt Mohammed Suraj-oo-deen Shah Gezee, the Great Mogul of India. His claim to succeed his father was sustained by the East India Company against a conspiracy to place a younger brother on the throne, and he was in the receipt of nearly a million dollars annually from that colossal corporation. Yet he had no political power, and made no pretense to the least authority outside his palaces, whose bounds embraced twelve thousand subjects, while the royal family itself numbered about one eighth as many.

Beyond the limits of the narrow streets, where the bazars and native houses crowd together, yet close enough for easy access to the mission church, stood the home of the Hildreths. It was set back from a road in the middle of a garden or open space, which is so necessary to European life in this climate. A hedge partly hid the house, and there were several trees in the garden, kept alive by the persistent attentions of the malee, who drew water morning and evening from a well, and filled the trenches around the parched roots.

The home of the missionary showed the plainness that is a feature of the Anglo Indian architecture. It was made of sun dried bricks, plastered and whitewashed. Like the bungalow where Dr. Avery held his parting interview with Luchman, it was surrounded by wide verandas, shaded by grass tatties.

During the fiery heat of the day the structure was kept tightly closed against the hot wind which was like a furnace blast. Late in the afternoon, the family ventured to emerge from the interior to the veranda, where the tatties had been sprinkled with water, with a view of wooing something in the nature of coolness from the scorching air that stole through them.

This veranda, on the afternoon of May 10, 1857, therefore, contained the missionary, idly reclining on his long cane settee, with his daughter sitting more erect in a chair at his elbow, while the wife rested in her lounging chair at the other end of the veranda.

Marian held a book in her hand, which she was dreamily reading by the dim light that stole through the tattie, the enervating heat driving away all disposition to talk. The burning sun of India had added depth to the loveliness of the young lady, whose dark eyes and clear brunette complexion were softened by the climate so often fatal to foreigners. Bending over her volume, her figure showed a grace of outline and form, not surpassed even in Persia, the land of beauty.

The sound of a footfall caused her to look up. Some one had entered the compound from the street, and was approaching at a rapid pace. A few seconds later, the tattie was lifted, and the gaunt face and form of Luchman stepped upon the veranda, and respectfully saluted them all.

"Have you just arrived?" asked Marian.

"I have not tarried, Miss sahib, an hour by the way. I came straight from the gates to your house."

"But where is he—Dr. Avery?"

"I have a letter from him to you," answered the native, groping with his fingers among the folds of his turban.

"Jalde! jalde!" (Quick! quick!) exclaimed the lady, impatient at the deliberation of Luchman; "tell me—has anything happened to him?"

"No; but, Miss sahib, here is his letter."

Her hands trembled as she took it, and she did not catch the flash of the diamond, when its envelope was disturbed by the fingers of the native, who instantly replaced it.

Mr. Hildreth roused from the long cane settee on which he was stretched and looked inquiringly at his daughter. He had overheard the conversation between Marian and Luchman, and he spoke to her, after waiting until she had time to finish the letter:

"What does he say for himself? Why did he not come with Luchman instead of sending him forward alone?"

Marian stepped hastily to the side of her parent and read the letter in a low voice to him.

"I don't understand it," he said in the same guarded undertone. "He says the date of the sepoy rising is close at hand. Today is the 10th; he speaks as though there is not the slightest doubt of the revolt."

At this moment, the wife, seeing that something important was on the minds of her husband and daughter, rose quickly from her chair and joined them.

"You seem alarmed about something."

By way of reply, Marian handed her the letter from Dr. Avery, the others in the meantime holding their peace.

Luchman was standing just where he halted when he passed the letter to the young lady, and there he remained motionless, his arms folded, while he looked expectantly at the little group. The missionary raised his finger and beckoned him to approach.

"Luchman, tell us about this," said Mr. Hildreth, as the native drew nigh.

He gave the dreaded information asked for. There could be no doubt that a general revolt of the sepoys through India had been fixed for the latter part of the month. Emissaries had been engaged for months in inflaming the minds of Hindoo and Mussulman alike, until the fanatical population were like so many cobras bursting with venom. The majority believed that the English were determined to break their caste and convert them to Christianity by means of the defiling cartridges. The war, therefore, would be a religious one, which is another way of saying that the strife would be the most cruel on which the sun ever shines.

Luchman had learned that the mutiny was fixed for the last day of May, and he believed that it would come with the certainty of the rising of the sun. There had been a revolt at Berhampore on the 25th of the preceding February, but it was so slight and was so easily suppressed that all misgiving quickly passed.

"There is another great danger," remarked Luchman.

"What is that?" asked the missionary.

"Many of the sepoys are too impatient to wait for the day fixed."

"How will it be in Delhi?"

The native shook his head.

"They will wait, sahib; but they are ready now."

"And what will be done here?"

Luchman seemed surprised at the question.

"Was not Delhi the capital of the Mogul Empire? Does not the emperor live with his family in the palaces yonder?"

These queries fully answered the questions of the missionary. Delhi was to be the capital of the restored empire, and probably in all India there was not a more unsafe place for a European to dwell.

When they had talked awhile longer, Luchman, declining the invitation to eat and rest himself, said he would go forth to learn some things he was anxious to know. If he found the danger immediate he would return without delay; otherwise he might be gone until morning.

The native then lifted the tattie and quickly passed out of the compound upon the street, while the little group left to themselves talked in low tones of the dreadful news. They felt that the shadow of death was over them all, and there was no saying that one dear to each had not already given up his life.

"He speaks hopefully," said Marian, unfolding the letter again. Before she could do more than glance at the first lines, the father exclaimed:

"Luchman is returning! He brings important news!"

"It is Baird!" whispered Marian, leaping up and into the arms of the young surgeon, who, at that moment, lifted the tattie and bounded among the party like a burst of fresh mountain air.

CHAPTER IV.

ON THE THRESHOLD.

Who can be so welcome as the cherished one that comes to us from the jaws of death? The arrival of Baird Avery turned all the gloom into radiance, and lifted for the moment the shadow that hung over the doomed household. He paused only long enough to hold Marian for a moment in rapturous embrace, when he turned and warmly greeted her father and mother, trying in the meanwhile to answer the questions that each one rained upon him.

It took but a few minutes to give all the information at command, and then, as he was dusty, sun-burned and tired, he was glad to plunge into the house and into the bath. That refreshing luxury over, it was dark, and shortly after the evening meal was eaten. Emerging once more upon the veranda, Avery occupied one of the cane lounging chairs that were at the command of any one who chose to use them.

"Ah," he sighed, puffing at his cheroot and stretching out in the delightful support, "this is what I call luxury and no mistake. I walked all of last night, up to sunrise this morning. I was so tired that I thought I never would become rested, but now the feeling is so delicious that it is worth all the labor that produces it. I fancy I could spend a week here without wanting to change my position."

"Where is your luggage, doctor?"

"All the property subject to my control is resting in this chair. When Luchman told me that the palanquin bearers meant to kill me, of course I was careful of my movements. I did not give him any hint of my intention, but tried to mislead him, for he was strongly set against any effort on my part to join you. After he had gone, I went out of the bungalow with the intention of taking the most valuable things from the palanquin. I looked for the khansaman, but he was invisible. While trying to find him, I came upon two of the natives lurking near the corner of the bungalow, and no doubt on the watch for a chance to bury their knives in me. When I saw them, the cowardly scamps broke and ran in such terror that they were off before I could get any kind of aim."

"Did you have trouble on the road?" asked the missionary.

"None at all, though I think it was due to the pains I took not to attract attention. There is no molestation at present of foreigners, and until there is, a little care will take you through many places where in a few days it will be certain death to show your face. I called on General Graves at the cantonment and told him that a revolt of the sepoys was sure to come before the first of next month."

"How did he receive your information?"

"He thanked me like the gentleman he is, but I saw that he thought very little of what I said. He remarked that the same thing had been told him again and again within the past few weeks, and added with a laugh that the dog that barks the most bites the least. I tell you," added the surgeon, rising to an upright sitting posture and speaking with great emphasis, "one of two things is certain—this impending mutiny is the most prodigious hoax of the nineteenth century, or it will be the most appalling massacre of modern times: I am inclined to believe it will prove the latter."

"So am I," added the missionary impressively. "We are standing on the threshold of judgment, and naught but the hand of God can save us from a terrible fate."

"But He will save only those who try to save themselves," ventured Marian, both she and her mother awed by the dreadful shadow that darkened their hearthstone.

"We will do all that lies within our power, but we are worms encircled by a ring of fire. Where the revolt is so widespread there is no safety this side of Calcutta, almost a thousand miles away."

"Delhi will be the headquarters of the sepoys," said Dr. Avery, "and the very hour they occupy the city the massacre of the Europeans will begin. They will assail them like tigers. Can you not hide yourselves in the house of some faithful native where no one will think of looking for you? There you can stay until the flurry is over and our soldiers retake the city as they will soon do."

"Your proposal has been in my mind ever since Luchman told us of our danger; but I have misgivings that many of the converts will find themselves unable to stem the whirlwind of fanatical excitement. If so, they will be the fiercest of our enemies. Even if faithful, they will be suspected and are likely to be destroyed by the Mohammedans."

"What about Luchman?"

"I ought to feel sure of him, for we shall be at his mercy. But he was a high caste Brahmin, and he may become the most venomous Hindoo when caught in the swirl. I hope differently, however, but we shall soon know the worst."

When the night had advanced, the little group knelt around the family altar, while the missionary poured out his supplication to the Heavenly Father who had been so merciful to them in the past. He was one of the most devoted laborers that went forth in his master's vineyard, and he was ready at all times to answer the summons: "Come home," but he loved those who were kneeling with him, and he pleaded for their care with an earnestness and faith that it would seem must prevail.

The lovers lingered after the departure of the parents. Many months had passed since they met, and these sweet minutes could not but be happy ones, despite the overpowering gloom outside. Could the moonlight have stolen through the tattie it would have seen them seated side by side on the cane settee, her hand folded in his, while the murmur of their voices was so soft and low that no listener could have caught the syllables that fell from their lips.

This was the hour for which both had sighed during the weeks and months that were past. The belief that such blissful communion awaited him cheered Dr. Avery during that long, dusty, laborious journey up the valley of the Ganges. It was her picture which haunted his dreams, when fitfully slumbering in the palanquin or watching for the treacherous tiger in the fever smitten jungles.

And now after all these perils the dream was realized. He knew the sacred thrill as he pressed the small white hand and touched his lips to the smooth, warm cheek, and drew the willowy form still closer to his own. Ah, if it could but last! But such meetings were too blissful to continue long. Again the sweet vows were repeated, and Avery felt that if he could but hold that dear form by his side forever he would care not for storm or sorrow.

They were still talking in their soft low tones, when Marian raised her head.

"It seems to me that a great many people are going along the roads tonight."

"I have noticed the same thing," replied Avery. "Delhi has no pavements, and few of the people have shoes, so they make mighty little noise on the soft cunka of the road, but when it is so still around us we can hear the sweep of the myriads of feet—Sh!"

While the two were listening to the faint but unmistakable noise made by the multitudinous tramping, some one entered the compound and walked rapidly to the bungalow. Dr. Avery instinctively rose to his feet, grasped his revolver, and drew aside the tattle, just as Luchman stopped in front of it.

The native showed no surprise on seeing the surgeon, from whom he supposed he had parted forever, but respectfully saluted him and the young lady, who had also risen and stood by his side.

"What news do you bring?" asked the doctor.

"Bad news, sahib,—bad news; the natives are so impatient that they will not wait for the day fixed by their leaders. The streets are full of people; I have heard threats made against this house; they are afraid to make the attack, but before long they will gain the courage to do so."

"Then it is unsafe to stay here."

"Every hour increases the danger, sahib."

The native spoke the truth.

CHAPTER V.

THE OPENING TRAGEDY.

The city of Meerut stands on a grassy plain, to the northeast of Delhi, and distant some thirty two miles. At the date of the mutiny, its population was about forty thousand souls. The cantonments lie two miles to the north of the town, and contained accommodations for twenty thousand troops.

On the afternoon of Sunday, May 10, the native troops at Meerut mutinied, and the first massacre of the lurid series began. The slaughter of all the Europeans was determined on, and would have been carried out but for the lack of unanimity among the mutineers, though there is good reason for believing that the outbreak was not premeditated, but the result of a rumor that arrangements had been made to seize their arms.

The Third Cavalry and the Twentieth Regiment clamored to begin the massacre at once, but the Eleventh Native Infantry held back so persistently that the exasperated Twentieth fired a volley into them. This did what was wanted, and the Eleventh joined the other two bodies in a rush for the parade ground, with frenzied execrations against the "sahib loge."

Colonel Finnis, commanding the Eleventh, spurred his horse on a run to the parade ground, where he made an impassioned appeal to the soldiers to stand by their colors and to refrain from entering into a useless revolt. In the midst of his fervid harangue, a sepoy of the Twentieth raised his musket and shot him in the back. A volley followed, and he tumbled from his saddle riddled with bullets.

Seeing him fall, the other officers knew it was death to stay, so they galloped to the Rifles and Sixth Dragoons. The less murderous Eleventh helped to get them away from their enemies.

Meanwhile a party of soldiers had ridden to the lockup, where a company of mutineers had been confined by the English officers for refusing to use the new cartridges. They numbered eighty five, and, in accordance with the sentence of the court martial, were in irons. These were quickly knocked off, and the men released. In addition, a thousand other prisoners undergoing sentence for various offenses were set at liberty. Then pandemonium was let loose.

Murder, fire and outrage reigned supreme, and no pen dare write the atrocities that marked the opening scene of the awful drama of the Sepoy Mutiny. The officers' bungalows, public edifices, the mess houses of the troops, and in short the structures between the native lines and Meerut were fired. Night closed in while the conflagration was raging, and the yell of the frenzied wretches mingled with the roar of the flames, which carried millions of sparks upward, and filled the sky with a glare that was seen a score of miles away. Wherever there was a chance for plunder, there rushed the mob like so many tigers. Age and sex were not spared, and the scenes which marked the first revolt in India were a forerunner of what was to follow. The telegraph lines to Delhi were cut, so that no news of the revolt reached Delhi until the following day, when it was carried thither by natives on horseback. General Hewitt had neglected to place a guard over the disaffected sepoys in irons, and he now failed, although quite a force remained at his disposal, to attack or follow the mutineers, who were marching toward Delhi.

Thus the misgiving of Luchman was confirmed. Instead of waiting until the 31st, the preconcerted time for the general rising, the sepoys at Meerut precipitated it three weeks in advance. The Rubicon was crossed, and the rebels could only push on to the end, whatever that might prove to be.

Sated with plunder and murder, the rabble drew off and took the road to Delhi, which was now their rallying city. To express their scorn of General Hewitt and his soldiers, they went into camp only six miles distant and were not disturbed.

The excitement in Delhi was intense when the news came of the massacre at Meerut. Luchman was one of the first to receive the tidings, and he lost no time in hastening home to the missionary. It was about the middle of the forenoon, and an anxious consultation was held. It was decided that the best thing to be done was to stay in the house until nightfall. If they were unmolested up to that time, an attempt would be made, under the guidance of the native, to get out of the city.

The day was a most trying one to the little family, who hardly ventured to show themselves in their own compound. They knew that the massacre was likely to begin at any hour and minute in Delhi, where the "loot" that awaited the impatient fanatics was the most stupendous known in modern times. There was untold wealth awaiting them in the shape of Cashmere shawls, bodies covered with gold lace, skirts of dresses, watches, jewelry, gold bullion, beds of silk and down, and the vast treasures in the Bank of Delhi.

Early in the evening, Luchman returned with full news of what had taken place, and with the still more alarming tidings that the mutineers had reached Delhi.

"We must leave at once," said Dr. Avery, compressing his lips.

"You are right, sahib," added Luchman; "let there be no delay."

"Whither shall we go?" asked Mr. Hildreth.

Rather curiously, with all his cunning, Luchman was not able to answer this question satisfactorily to himself. He explained why. His first thought was to throw himself and friends on the protection of the soldiers, but the indecision of the commandant at Delhi caused him to distrust such a refuge. The troops would fight bravely, but with a blundering head and scant numbers, the worst was to be feared.

Luchman stated that the first step was to get outside of the city as soon as possible. When that should be done, he would be better able to decide whether it was wise to rely upon the English soldiery, or whether they should try to reach Kurnal or some other remote point, where for a time they would be comparatively safe.

There could be no argument against the counsel of the native, and the little group prepared to leave.

It was idle to attempt to carry off their property with them as it would be sure to draw attention and bring an attack. Such trifles as could be easily carried and concealed were hastily gathered together. Dr. Avery insisted that he meant to take all his possessions with him, inasmuch as he had brought them thither, though he came with empty hands.

What they needed more than anything else were firearms and weapons with which to defend themselves. In this respect, they made a fair showing. Avery had his two revolvers, while Marian carried a small one which he had presented to her on a previous visit. It was hardly thought that she would be called upon to use it, but it was by no means impossible, and she was an expert with the weapon. Her father owned a pistol and gun, while Luchman carried his formidable knife and had also secured a revolver. This completed the armament of the company, Mrs. Hildreth being the only member without a weapon.

CHAPTER VI.

AN INCIDENT BY THE WAY.

Before venturing upon the streets, the fugitives, as they may now be called, had recourse to such disguises as were at their command. It so happened that at that time, the only servant with the family of the missionary was Luchman. A second servant, Ali Khan, had been called away two days before by the illness of his wife, and a third was absent for the evening. Living in a distant part of the city, the second had been given permission to remain away until ready to return, and he had not yet shown up. Since he was a Mohammedan, who, while impressed by the teachings of Christianity, had not yet made profession of the new faith, the family were rather relieved by his absence. Indeed they were not without strong doubts of his loyalty, and they would not have been surprised had he appeared among the fanatics that were certain to make a move before long against the missionary and his family.

The first preparation of the ladies consisted in an adoption of chuddars, or white shawls of muslin, which are common among the native women. These are worn over the head and drawn around the face so that only the eyes are visible when the wearer appears on the street. Enveloped by these cool coverings, there was good reason to hope that they could pass along the roads without attracting notice.

Luchman arranged turbans about the heads of Mr. Hildreth and Dr. Avery, tied with a skill peculiar to himself. The servants' quarters are never without several clean white muslin coats in order that the menials may make a seemly appearance at all times. The gentlemen each donned one of these, and thus the party at night were quite sure to pass muster, unless suspicion should lead to a close scrutiny as they sought to make their way toward the Cashmere Gate.

Luchman announced the painful necessity that the friends must separate, in order to draw less attention. No woman ever appears alone at night in any of the bazars, unless directly behind her husband. It was arranged, therefore, that Marian should walk behind Luchman, and Mrs. Hildreth immediately behind the missionary. They would part company as soon as the street was reached, and since all, with one exception, were familiar with the city, they were hopeful of reaching the Cashmere Gate without molestation.

Dr. Avery, being but slightly acquainted with the capital, was given the most direct route, which was explained with so much clearness to him, that he was as hopeful as the others. Indeed, with the spirits that were natural to him, he offered to wager Marian and Luchman that he would reach the rendezvous ahead of all.

The streets were unlighted by lamps, the paunchyats or groups of natives being gathered around the small fires kindled in many places on the ground. It was believed that these could be avoided without difficulty, though the bright moon in the unclouded sky required great caution in the movements of the fugitives.

Everything being ready, they stole out upon the nearest street as silently as so many shadows. Dr. Avery pressed the hand of Marian as he whispered a farewell, and begged her to maintain a brave heart, and to keep close behind her protector, Luchman. The brave girl uttered some reply which her lover did not catch, and, almost before he suspected it, he was threading his way alone through the narrow streets.

He was amazed by the throngs of people whom he met at every turn. It was yet early in the evening, and they seemed to be everywhere. Everybody was talking, and the chatter of tongues was like Babel itself. Now and then he heard an English word, or was able to catch the meaning of some expression in Hindustani. He was sure that every one related to the momentous subject of the mutiny.

All at once a greater uproar than usual broke out directly in front, and the swarm surged in that direction, led by the same headlong curiosity which controls a mob in a civilized city.

Avery pushed along with the others, and soon found that the cause of the tumult was a brawl among several men. Feeling no interest in such an affray, he was about to pass on, when one of the combatants leaped into the middle of the street, closely pressed by the others. It was then that the bright moonlight showed that the individual who was striving to disentangle himself was an Englishman, who was hard pressed by fully a dozen natives.

He was bareheaded, tall, muscular, and of great strength and activity. Had anything like fair play been shown, he would have vanquished the whole party, but it was clear he had been assailed by the mob, who were determined he should die.

Dr. Avery's bosom heaved with indignation, and it was hard to restrain the impulse to drive his way through the throng to the help of his imperiled countryman, but to do so would have been certain death. Unable to turn his back on the man that was making such a gallant fight for his life, he forced his hand into his pocket and grasped his revolver, in the hope that in the excitement he might fire several shots for his friend, without diverting the furious assault to himself.

So far as could be seen, the Englishman was acting on the defensive. He had no weapons in his hand, but he struck out, dodged and parried with a skill that showed him to be a master of the art of self defense. He would have knocked his assailants over and over but for the obstruction of the crowd behind them. But his blows were terrific, and beyond a doubt he cracked almost every skull against which he drove his fists with such tremendous force and lightning-like rapidity.

All the time the pale faced athlete was retreating or rather trying to retreat, and could he have shaken himself clear of the swarm but for a second, he would have gotten safely away, but he was so hemmed in by his assailants that escape was out of the question.

"God help you!" suddenly exclaimed Dr. Avery, unable to stand idle any longer, "I can't see you murdered like a dog! Out of my path, you infernal devils!"

It is hardly possible that this command, shouted in his own language, was heard by the wretches, most of whom were screeching and shouting themselves, but there were several close at hand who recognized the tongue and saw that another victim had run into their net. These natives, generally so afraid of foreigners, had become impudent and aggressive under the belief that all the infidel Christians were to be exterminated, root and branch, by the sepoys.

Dr. Avery cared nothing now about hiding his identity. He was struggling furiously and fighting his way to the side of his countryman. He was almost, if not quite, his equal in strength and activity, and the two would have made a brave battle with their backs against each other and their arms going like the piston rods of an engine.

The surgeon was forging ahead like a ship struggling in the trough of a sea, when a rasping howl from a score of throats told that he was identified, and the wretches made for him.

At this juncture, the stranger further out in the street did something which he ought to Have done before, though the act was as effective at one time as at another. Finding it impossible to extricate himself from the throng that pressed him so hard, he whipped out his revolver and fired five shots in rapid succession, wheeling quickly on his heel as he did so, by which maneuver he sent the bullets toward as many different points of the compass.

The natives were so plentiful that it was impossible to miss, and they went down like tenpins. The flashing of the weapon in their faces caused a panic for the moment. There was a wild scramble to get away from the desperate man, who had doubtless fired for the very purpose of creating this diversion.

It was the supreme moment for the Englishman, who bounded forward as if shot from a catapult, striking fiercely at every one within reach and clearing a path through which he dashed down the street like a frightened deer, his yellow hair streaming in the wind.

The sight of the fugitive running for life brought back the senses of the mob, and they swarmed after him. Dr. Avery was quick to see that this diversion gave him a chance to save himself during the moments that the attention of the heathen was drawn toward the flying fugitive.

Stepping quickly back into the shadow, he walked deliberately away without attracting notice.

"I would like to know whether they caught him," he muttered, full of solicitude for the stranger. "He knew what to do, and he got along a good deal better than he would had I reached his side. For that matter, it was mighty lucky for me that I failed. He can outrun all of those yawping devils, and, if he doesn't get tangled up in the streets, he has a good chance of giving them the slip—helloa! what's up now?"

CHAPTER VII.

THE PURSUIT.

That which arrested the eye of Dr. Avery was another crowd, or more properly the same one. He had been drawn away from his true course, and in trying to regain it, he came face to face with the wild mob. Should he be recognized, he would be set upon at once; but with the coolness of a veteran he sauntered along, keeping in the shadow as much as he could. Providentially he was soon clear from all danger from that source.

His heart gave a sympathetic throb when he caught the meaning of enough of the broken exclamations to learn that the fugitive had escaped from the throng that had chased him only a short way before he left them out of sight.

"Luchman gave me this street because it is the most direct one to the Cashmere Gate, and I am less likely to lose my way, but it seems to me it has more moonlight and the natives are altogether too plentiful. I shouldn't wonder now if they are so impatient that they will not wait for the sepoys to begin their deviltry. I think I will turn off and take a road where there are not so many neighbors."

He speedily reached such a street, which appeared to run parallel to the one he had just left, and certainly was much safer. He decided to keep it as long as he could, and when convinced that he was following a wrong course, he would make his way back to the main road that Luchman had directed him to follow.

Dr. Avery had gone perhaps two thirds of the distance to the Cashmere Gate when he made a terrifying discovery.

The portion of the street into which he had drifted was almost deserted, and he was wondering whether it might not be one of the most dangerous parts of the city, when he observed three persons on the other side of the way. They were less than fifty feet distant, and the moon was shining full upon them, so they were in plain sight.

They were two natives supporting a female between them, all walking slowly, while the head of the woman was bowed, and she moaned as if in pain.

"That is singular," thought Dr. Avery; "she seems to be faint, and they are supporting her to her home."

Prompted by a natural impulse, he turned and moved toward the trio, timing his steps so that he was not noticed. He quickly saw that the woman was holding back, while the escort was drawing her forward.

"That has a bad look," he said, walking faster until he was close upon them. Then, oblivious of the fact that he was using an unknown tongue, he called out:

"What are you doing with that woman?"

The natives stopped in a surprised way and stared at him, while the prisoner raised her head and wailed in a faint voice:

"O Baird, save me from them!"

"My God, Marian! is that you?" he asked, springing forward and catching her arm.

The natives, in accordance with their cowardly nature, were about to drop on their knees and beg for mercy, when they had wit enough to see their opportunity. At the moment the surgeon seized the arm of the young lady, the trembling wretches slipped noiselessly away. Had they delayed their departure a single minute, Baird Avery would have shot both dead.

"How came you here?" he asked, half believing it was all a hideous dream, until he felt the warm arm of his beloved grasped by his own strong right hand.

"I can hardly tell you, but it must have been my fault. Luchman walked quite rapidly, never once looking behind to see whether I was keeping near him. He had the right to believe that I knew enough to act my part without any help from him; but at one of the bazars the crowd was so dense that I was compelled to turn aside. Then, when I tried to get back, something caused an excitement in front, and I was forced still further away. By that time I had lost Luchman altogether. You know that no woman ventures in such a place at night without her husband, and I was in a sad predicament. With a view of not drawing unpleasant attention to myself, I tried to keep directly behind a stranger."

"That ought to have protected you," said her escort.

"So it did for a time, but I was terrified when I found that a couple of Mohammedans were following me. I started to flee, but they quickly overtook and made me a prisoner. I pleaded with them and offered all my jewelry, but they laughed and replied that they would soon have it any way. I dared not shriek, for that would have brought others around me, and made my danger tenfold worse."

"But where was that pistol of yours?" asked the doctor, drawing her arm within his own. "Why was it loaded with such care, and stowed away in the recesses of your dress?"

"Would you believe that I forgot I had it until after they grasped my arm so tightly that I could not get hold of it?"

"Such forgetfulness cannot happen again; but we shall be a long time getting out of the city at this rate. How far are we from the Cashmere gate?"

"About half a mile."

"Do you know the way?"

"Perfectly; if the moon was not so bright we would go straight to it, but the whole city is out of doors and we must pick our path. I wonder whether father and mother have had any trouble."

"We can only hope that they have not. What course are you following?" asked Avery a minute later, when they turned into a still narrower street. "If they keep on contracting in this fashion we shall find ourselves caught like the Man in the Iron Mask."

"I am trying to get away from the crowds of people, but they seem to be everywhere."

"Helloa! What does that mean?"

Avery stopped short, drawing his pistol and looking behind him. Marian knew more about the people than he did. She understood the significance of that horrible cry.

"Quick, Baird! We have no time to lose.

"But tell me," he added, moving on again, "what is the meaning of those cries?"

"They are those of the natives who have come upon the dead body of one of their number. It may be that of one who had been pursuing the Englishman you told me about, or it may be one who was killed by an enemy of his own race; but many of them lay his death to the door of the English."

"But they know nothing about us——"

"See!" whispered Marian, catching his arm with a nervous start; "they have discovered us, and are running this way."

Avery saw that his companion spoke the truth. Direct flight was out of the question, for the natives could speedily overtake them. The two walked rapidly, and at the first cross street made a short turn to the right in the hope of getting beyond sight before their enemies could see them again.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE GARDEN.

Fortunately our friends had entered one of the loneliest portions of Delhi, where for a time they saw not a living soul, even when so many thousands were abroad; but this could not last, and some would be sure to meet them before going much further.

It was this dread that prevented them from keeping up their fastest gait, even while they were so anxious to increase the distance between themselves and their enemies.

The latter were gaining rapidly, for that peculiar "monotonous chant of frenzy," (Allah-ullah) which, once heard, can never be forgotten, sounded closer every minute.

Although Marian Hildreth had lived a number of years in Delhi, she was now in a portion that was as unfamiliar to her as the slums of Cawnpore or Lucknow. Naturally, therefore, her escort took the lead.

"Follow me as fast as you can," he whispered, increasing his speed.

The young surgeon had caught sight of a piece of broken wall of sun dried bricks on his right. One powerful leap carried him to a projection near the top, and catching the hand of Marian he drew her up beside him. The jagged pieces of wall served as well as a stair could have done, and a moment later both were on the top of a flat roofed, unoccupied building, partly in ruins.

The couple ran across the flat surface to the other side, where they found themselves facing an open space, which was the compound or garden of some wealthy native, whose house was in plain sight a hundred yards away.

It was not the place that Avery would have selected, but there was no time for choosing. Running to the edge of the roof, he dropped to the earth. The descent was about a dozen feet, and he was considerably shaken; but he did not mind that, and, steadying himself, he looked up at Marian, who was peering hesitatingly down upon him.

"Jump!" he whispered, "I'll catch you!"

With the faith of the little child leaping into the arms of its parents, she gathered her skirts about her dainty feet and dropped as lightly as a bird. The powerful Avery caught her without trouble, and placing her on the ground clasped her hand.

"The only thing to do is to hide under those trees; it isn't the best place in the world, but we have no choice."

There was some consolation in the knowledge that a wall ten feet high separated them from their enemies, though there was no telling how long that obstacle would intervene. They had but a short distance to go when they stopped beneath the shadow of a number of trees in the corner of the compound.

The street along which they were passing when observed by the mob, ran north and south. Turning to the right, the fugitives sped a short distance in an easterly direction, that being the course of the wall up which they clambered. They took to the shelter of the trees near where they dropped to the ground, which was in the southeastern corner. From this point they had a fair view of the garden and home of the wealthy native, upon whose property they were trespassers.

The house stood in the middle of the compound, which was surrounded on all sides by a wall ten feet high, composed of sun dried bricks. The roof of this house was sloped and thatched and had a long veranda in front. The high inclosing wall had but one entrance, which was from the main street, that is, the one running north and south, from which the fugitives turned off before taking refuge in the garden. Their position, therefore, was close to the street, along which the mob were hurrying in pursuit, though, as has been shown, the high wall separated the parties.

The hope of the fugitives was that their enemies would continue up the street without suspecting their refuge. Would they do so? A few minutes must tell.

"I hardly expected to find such fine grounds in this part of the city," whispered Avery, standing with the hand of Marian clasped in his own, and using his eyes and ears for all they were worth.