“Tell your king,” was the reply, “that we accept no terms from him who seeks to dispossess us of our homes. We deem that capitulation is a word only admitted into the vocabulary of cowards.” The Vakeel returned, and Akbar determined to storm the town. On that very day two mines were sprung, which made a breach in the walls in two several places as before. The heroine who now commanded Chittore was undismayed at what she saw. The whole garrison had been cut off except about two hundred men. Multitudes of citizens had destroyed themselves and their families to escape falling into the conqueror’s hands. She, however, summoned as many of the inhabitants as were in a condition to make a final effort, determined to offer resistance to the enemy so long as there remained a man within the fortress able and willing to fight. The moment the breaches were formed the heroic widow ordered new works to be raised, and thus a slight defence was opposed to the foe in an incredibly short space of time. High wooden frames, filled with mud, had been previously prepared, and were instantly placed in the openings of the rampart. Upon the battlements stood a small but determined band, with large vessels containing a boiling liquid of the consistence of pitch, ready to pour it upon the besiegers’ heads as they attempted to scale the shattered walls. A number of females armed with missiles likewise crowded the ramparts, determined to take their part in the close of this desperate game. All the principal women within the fortress had already suffered themselves to be sacrificed by their husbands, sons, or brothers; those that remained were only a few who had escaped the general massacre to die in the breaches of their native city. While the inhabitants were working at the breaches Peirup Singh came before the mother of his beloved. She moved from him with a glance of scorn. “Nay,” said he, “turn not from a despairing man. I come here to redeem that honour which you consider I have forfeited. The master-passion within me is now quelled, and I yield to the sadder circumstances of my destiny.” “The man,” said the Rajpootni, “who prefers life to glory deserves not to die the warrior’s death. There are enough on these battlements to leave a record for the dark page of history of the desperate defence of Chittore. You may go and propitiate the conqueror, and live with the galling iron of bondage entering into your recreant soul. We seek no aid from Peirup Singh.” The Rajpoot bit his lip, but stirred not. The hurried glance of his eye, which darted like a sunbeam towards the advancing hosts, expressed the fierce resolve which swelled his heart at this moment of advancing peril. It was the glance of a bayed tiger. He drew his sword and walked with a deliberate but firm step to the least protected part of the breach.