"Oh, Nani—no!"
"Yes, it is true, especially in the old days. Some went into the bazaar and they never came out. I remember one—oh, such a fine, straight, strong man; he was a tent lascar and Mahommedan, at seven rupees a month. People thought he was a Punjaubi—he was so fair—but I knew he was an Englishman by his eyes. He came from a place called York-shire. He had a pretty wife—a lascar's daughter. He was happy. Oh, yess."
"Do you remember the Mutiny, Nani?"
"Why not, when I was twenty years of age, and married? We were in Bombay, then."
"And you saw nothing of it?"
"Truly I did, child; for four months after the massacre, I, who speak to you, stood within the Bee-Bee Ghur itself."
"What was that?"
"Whatt! You not know? the ladies' house in Cawnpore, the bungalow where the butchers cut them to pieces."
"Why were you there, Nani?"
"Child, you may ask! Lopez had business up country; in those days he took me about, for he was proud of me. He stopped at Cawnpore—he had an agent there, and he wanted to see the bungalow, 'the ladies' house', where two of his own cousins were there murdered. Oh, yess, and so we went; such a common old shabby place—just two large rooms. We went in—many were there too, talking in whispers. The walls—oh, I wept when I looked—they were covered with writing, prayers and bits of hymns and loving messages and good-byes and names. Yes, the walls were white once; but oh, Bapré Bap! such awful splashes, and high up in one place, the full mark of a great red hand; and the floor—though all washed, looked black. The room seemed damp and full of horrors and fear and death. Oh no, no, I could not stay, like Lopez! No! no! no! in two minutes I had run out, and there before me was the well. Yes, they were all down there, and the top was bricked over. I could scarcely see for crying, but I hid away behind a little wall and fell down. Oh, I could not help it, and prayed for those souls, so cruelly, cruelly put to death. My child, I did not get over that day for long years; it haunts me now. As I speak to you, I can see it, and staring out at me from the wall, the—hand—the—butcher's hand!"