At the head of the procession, the worthy secretary, Bipin Dat, marched with pompous dignity. Against all contingencies, he had prudently further armed himself with a long sword, that trailed in the dust at his side, and made him an awe inspiring object to the beggars that chanced in his way.
As the procession passed through the streets, the people saluted the Rani with terms of affection. Many turned to catch a glimpse of her face.
"See," they cried. "The Rani of Jhansi fears not the gaze of our eyes."
It had gone little more than half the distance to the gate, when it was met by a bullock cart in which rode an old man of venerable aspect.
The Rani seemed to instantly recognize his features. She commanded her bearers to halt.
"It is my dear Guru," she cried. "Ah, how glad I am to see him."
On his part the old man recognized the rich liveries of the servants as those of his godchild, the Rani. With an effort he dismounted from his cart and would have prostrated himself before her, had she not anticipated his action.
She alighted quickly and knelt at his feet. She embraced them affectionately, and cried in a voice which all might hear:
"O Guru, live forever. Grant a blessing to thy godchild, Lachmi Bai."