“Dismiss all such ideas,” she answered, with energy. “Do you judge the nature of a leopard by the beauty of his spots? I tell you, that in all the Indian jungles there stalks not a tiger whose instincts are more savage, or whose thirst for blood is more intense, than this smooth-faced, smiling Nana Sahib. Ever since the return of his agent, Azimoolah, from England, whose mission to your Queen failed, the Nana has cherished in his heart an undying hatred for your race. Often has he visited this city in disguise to confer with the King, and for years they have been organising this revolt. I tell you that Nana Sahib is a demon, capable of performing deeds that the world would shudder at.”
“This is strange and startling news, Haidee,” cried Harper, in astonishment, “and doubly justifies my journey to Cawnpore. The division is commanded by one of the Company’s Generals, Sir Hugh Wheeler, and I shall consider it my duty to apprise him of the treacherous nature of the Nana. I appeal to you, comrade,” he said, turning to Martin, “and shall be glad of your advice.”
Martin was a man of few words. He had proved his reticence by refraining from taking any part in the conversation between Haidee and Harper.
“Go,” was the monosyllabic answer.
“Good. And you?”
“I will, when once outside of these walls, make my way to Meerut.”
“Excellent idea,” cried Harper, as a new thought struck him. “You can not only report me, but render me a personal service. My wife is stationed there; visit her, and inform her of my safety.”
“I will make that a duty. But what is your name?”
“Charles Harper, lieutenant in the Queen’s —— regiment. And yours?”
“James Martin, late engineer in the Delhi Arsenal, now a homeless, penniless waif, saved from an appalling storm of fire, but everything I possessed in the world lost through the destruction of the magazine.”