Everything needed having been gathered, the lamps were extinguished, and with the physician in the lead, the three passed out of the front door to the veranda. The doctor decided to leave the door unfastened, since it was useless to secure it.

Suddenly, when the doctor was about to give the word to move, he saw a shadowy figure in the direction of the river.

"Sh!" he whispered; "it looks as if we had waited too long; some one is approaching. Be ready to use your gun or to retreat into the house if necessary to fight it out there."

"It is a white man," said the daughter in an undertone; "he may be a patient."

It was clear by this time that the stranger was not a native, for he was dressed in civilized costume and his gait was that of a European. He did not perceive the silent figures until within a few paces of the veranda, when he paused abruptly, as if startled.

"Good evening," he said in English. "Is this Dr. Marlowe?"

"It is; who are you?"

"My name is Anderson; I was looking for you."

"In what way can I serve you?"

"You have heard the news, I suppose," said the man, keeping his position, and looking up to the three, who were now all on the edge of the veranda; "the native soldiers at Meerut mutinied yesterday, killed most of their officers, plundered the city, slaying every white person they could find, after which most of them hurried to Delhi."

"You bring dreadful tidings; I had heard nothing definite, but suspected all that you have told me. Are you alone and why do you come to me?"

"I fled with my wife and two other families, Turner and Wharton, from the outskirts of Meerut as soon as there seemed a chance for us. We made our way to the river, found a boat and paddled to this place, for we had no sail and there was scarcely any wind."

"Where are your friends?"

"I left them by the edge of the river in the boat, promising to rejoin them in a few minutes."

"Have you no companions, but those you named?"

"None; my wife and I buried two children last Summer; Mr. Turner has none, and Mr. Wharton and his young wife were but recently married."

"You have not told me why you come to me?"

"Chiefly to warn you of your peril and to beseech you to fly before it is too late."

"I thank you very much for your solicitude; it was kind on the part of you and your friends, but it strikes me that one place is about as safe as another."

"We are so far from the large cities and the coast that it is useless to attempt to reach any of them. Our first aim was to get as far from Meerut as possible; then as we found ourselves approaching your home, it seemed to us there was a chance for our lives by pushing to the northward, into the wilder and less settled country, where the flames of the insurrection may not reach."

"Your sentiments are our own; you have been wonderfully fortunate in getting this far; my friends and I have seen enough to warn us to lose no time, and we were on the point of starting when I saw you."

"May I ask what course you intend to take?"

"I have lived here for twenty years, so that I am acquainted with the section. My intention was to follow a slightly travelled road, which, in fact, is little more than a bridle path, until several miles beyond Akwar, when we should come back to the main highway and keep to that for fifty or perhaps a hundred miles. By that time, we should be safe, if such a thing as safety is possible."

"Your plan is a good one, but is not mine better?"

"What is that?"

"I, too, am familiar with this part of the country; a stream empties into the Ganges just eastward of your house, hardly a half mile distant; it must have its source somewhere among the foothills of the Himalayas. At any rate, it is navigable for all of a hundred miles. It seems to me that when paddling up that stream at night, between the wooded banks, there will be less chance of being discovered by enemies than when travelling overland, as you contemplate."

"I am favorably impressed with your plan; do I understand you to invite us to join your party?"

"You are more than welcome; our boat will accommodate us all without crowding, but I regret to say we have but a single gun among us. That is mine, which I left with my friends against my return."

"We are well supplied in that respect; we accept your invitation with many thanks."

As the doctor spoke he stepped down from the veranda, followed by the others, and Mr. Anderson led the way across the lawn to the river, where his friends were awaiting his coming with many misgivings. A general introduction followed. A common danger makes friends of strangers, and in a few minutes all were as well acquainted as if they had known one another for days and weeks. Anderson and Turner were men in middle life, while Wharton was of about the same age as Jack Everson. They had lived for several years on the outskirts of Meerut, but it was young Wharton who discovered the impending peril, and it was due to him that the three families escaped the fate of hundreds of others on that woful night. The young wife and Mary Marlowe became intimate friends at once, while, as has been said, there was a hearty, genuine comradeship immediately established among all.

The boat was larger than Dr. Marlowe and his companions suspected. It was more than twenty feet in length, with a cabin at the stern, a place for a mast, though there was neither mast nor sail on board. Anderson had spoken of paddling to this point, when, had he spoken correctly, he would have said that no paddles were used, but that the craft was propelled by means of poles.