Almost due east from Delhi Dr. Hugh Marlowe, a venerable American physician, had lived for more than twenty years. Since the death of his wife, six years previous to the Mutiny, he had dwelt alone with his only daughter, Mary, and their single servant, Mustad, a devout Mussulman. A portion of the time mentioned had been passed without the society of his beloved child, who spent several years in New England (where the physician himself was born and had received his education) at one of the fashionable schools.

Shortly after her graduation, Miss Marlowe met Jack Everson, fresh from Yale, and the acquaintance ripened into mutual love, though the filial affection of the young woman was too profound to permit her to form an engagement with the young man until the consent of her father was obtained, and he would not give that consent until he had met and conversed with the young gentleman face to face and taken his measure, as may be said.

"If he doesn't esteem you enough to make a little journey like the one from America to this country he isn't worth thinking about."

"But he will make the journey," said the blushing daughter, patting the bronzed cheek of the parent whom she idolized as much as he idolized her.

"Don't be to sure of that, my young lady; romantic young girls like you have altogether too much faith in the other sex."

"But he has started," she added with a sly smile.

"He has, eh? He will change his mind before he reaches here. How far has he got?"

"He was due in England many weeks ago."

"Well, well! How soon will he arrive here?"

"I think he is due now."

"Very probably, but his fancy will give out before he reaches this out-of-the-way place."

"I think not, papa."

"Of course not, of course not; I just told you that that is the way with all foolish girls like you."

The old gentleman had assumed a stern earnestness, and he added: "I tell you he will never show himself here! I know what I'm talking about."

"But he is here, papa; let me introduce you to Jack Everson, a physician like yourself."

All this time the smiling young man was standing directly behind the old doctor, who was lazily reclining in a hammock on the shaded lawn, smoking a cheroot, while his daughter sat on a camp stool, with one hand resting on the edge of the hammock, so as to permit her gently to sway it back and forth. As she spoke the tall, muscular American walked forward and extended his hand.

"Doctor, I am glad to make your acquaintance," he said, in his cheery way. The astonished physician came to an upright position like the clicking of the blade of a jackknife, and meeting the salutation, exclaimed:

"Well, I'll be hanged! I never knew a girl so full of nonsense and tricks as Mary. You are welcome, doctor, to my house; let me have a look at you!"

Jack Everson laughingly stepped hack a couple of paces and posed for inspection. The elder deliberately drew his spectacle case from his pocket, adjusted the glasses and coolly scrutinized the young man from head to foot.

"You'll do," he quietly remarked, removing his glasses and returning them to the morocco case; "now, if you'll be good enough to seat yourself, we'll talk over matters until dinner time. When did you arrive?"

Jack seated himself on the remaining camp stool, a few paces from the happy young lady, accepted a cheroot from his host, and the conversation became general. Like most Americans, when at home or travelling, Jack Everson kept his eyes and ears open. He heard at Calcutta, his starting point, at Benares, Allahabad, Cawnpore and other places, the whisperings of the uprising that was soon to come, and his alarm increased as he penetrated the country.

"Worse than all," he said gravely, speaking of his trip, "one of my bearers spoke English well, and quite an intimacy sprang up between us. Since his companions could not utter a word in our language, we conversed freely without being understood. He was reticent at first concerning the impending danger and professed to know nothing of it, but this forenoon be gave me to understand, in words that could not be mistaken, that the whole country would soon be aflame with insurrection."

"Did he offer any advice?" asked Dr. Marlowe, less impressed with the news than was his visitor or his daughter.

"He did; he said that the escape of myself and of your family could be secured only by leaving this place at the earliest moment possible."

"But whither can we go? We are hundreds of miles from the seacoast and should have to journey for weeks through a country swarming with enemies."

"I asked him that question, and his answer was that we should make for Nepaul."

"That is the province to the east of us. It is a mountainous country, a long way off, and hard to reach. Why should he advise us to go thither?"

"I questioned him, but he seemed to fear that his companions would grow suspicious over our conversation and he said nothing more. I thought he would add something definite when we came to separate, and, to loosen his tongue, I gave him an extra fee, but he added never a word, and, unless I am mistaken, regretted what he had already said."

"It seems to me," observed the daughter, "that the man knew it is impossible for us to get to the seacoast, and believed that by going further into the interior we should reach the people who are not affected by the insurrection. Wide as it may be, there must be many points that will not feel it."

"That is the true reason," said her parent, "but, confound it! I have lived in this spot for twenty years; the little town of Akwar lies near, and there is hardly a person in it who has not been my patient. I am known even in Meerut and Delhi, and I can hardly believe the mutineers, for such they seem to be, will harm me or my friends."

"You once told me," replied Mary, "that when an appeal was made to the religion of this people they knew no such thing as fear or mercy."

"And I told you the truth," said her father gravely. "But since we have weapons and plenty of ammunition, and know how to handle the firearms we shall not be led like lambs to the slaughter."

"That is true enough," said Jack, "but it will be of little avail, when our enemies are numbered by the hundred and perhaps the thousand."

"I take it, then, that you favor an abandonment of our home?"

"I do, and with the least possible delay."

"And you, my daughter, are you of the same mind?"

"I am," was the emphatic response.

"Then my decision is that we shall start for the interior and stay there until it is safe to show ourselves again among these people, provided it ever shall be safe."

"When shall you start?"

The parent looked at the sky.

"It is two or three hours to nightfall. We will set out early to-morrow morning before the sun is high in the sky."

"But will we not be more liable to discovery?" asked Jack.

"Not if we use care. I am familiar with the country for miles in every direction. We shall have to travel for the first two or three days through a thick jungle, and it is too dangerous work to undertake in the night-time. This, you know, is the land of the cobra and the tiger, not to mention a few other animals and reptiles equally unpleasant in their nature. Last night," continued the doctor, "I saw a glare in the sky off to the westward on the opposite side of the river in the direction of Meerut. I wonder what it meant?"

"By Jove!" exclaimed Jack, "that explains something that the palanquin bearer said to me about there being so many Inglese where there are none to-day. I could not catch his meaning, though he mentioned Meerut. But he gave me to understand that it was not quite time yet for the uprising, which would come in a few weeks."

"Those things are apt to be precipitated. I have no doubt that the mutineers burned the city last night. If so, the main body will hurry to Delhi, which, being the ancient capital of the Mogul Empire, will become the new one. Some of the rebels may take it into their heads to come in this direction. What is the matter, Dr. Everson?"