“The infernal scoundrel!” the Doctor exclaimed; “after pretending for years to be our best friend. I'm disgusted to think that I have drunk his champagne a dozen times. However, that makes little difference to us now, your other news is the most important. We could have resisted the Sepoys for a month; but if they bring up guns there can be but one ending to it.”
“That is so, Doctor. The only hope I can see is that they may find our resistance so obstinate as to be glad to grant us terms of surrender.”
“Yes, there is that chance,” the Doctor agreed; “but history shows there is but little reliance to be placed upon native oaths.”
Bathurst was silent; his own experience of the natives had taught him the same lesson.
“It is a poor hope,” he said, after a while; “but it is the only one, so far as I can see.”
Not another word was spoken as they descended the tree and walked across to the house.
“Never mind about changing your things, come straight in.”
“Our scout has returned,” the Doctor said, as he entered the room. There was a general exclamation of gladness on the part of the ladies who had not retired.
“I am very glad to see you safe back, Mr. Bathurst,” Mrs. Hunter said, going up to him and taking his hand. “We have all been very anxious since you left.”
“The danger was very slight, Mrs. Hunter. I only wish I had brought you back the news that the native lines were deserted and the mutineers in full march for Delhi and Lucknow.”