She seized a torch which had been kept ready lighted to meet such a melancholy contingency. The daughter had not the mother’s heroism--she shrieked as she advanced towards the pile, and would have retreated, but her resolute parent, with the last collected effort of strength, dragged her onward. “There is no alternative but death, my child,” she said, calmly. She reached the pyre, took the trembling girl in her arms, ascended the fatal platform, applied the torch, and in a few moments both mother and daughter were wrapped in the embrace of death. The soldiers entered, having burst open the door, and found their prey had escaped them. They gazed upon the flaming pile, upon which oil had been poured to excite it to quicker combustion. They were deprived of their victim. The flames were singing a fearful requiem over her ashes. It was a horrible sight to witness the combined consummation of superstition and despair. The fortress was soon filled with the victorious Mahomedans. Those Hindoos who had not adopted the desperate resource of self-immolation, and had survived the carnage, thronged to the temples, the entrances of which they barricaded, determined to die in their sanctuaries rather than yield to the upholders of a different faith. Akbar himself entered the town, and ordered the temples to be forced. They who had sought sanctuary thither perished without a murmur. They attempted no resistance, but suffered themselves to be slaughtered like animals for the sacrifice. Several thousands thus became martyrs to their prejudices, and died with a smile of defiance upon their lips, without raising a hand in self-defence. The Emperor, however, did not evince that bigoted zeal which has so much disgraced the religion of every country in which it has been actively displayed, but spared the venerable monuments of an ancient, though besotted, superstition. His taste admired the structures, whilst his soul contemned the profane rites which they had been reared to consecrate, and though he destroyed the monstrous idols of the heathens, he allowed their temples to stand, many of them noble monuments of Hindoo talent and architectural skill. When the fortress was fully in possession of Akbar he gazed with astonishment upon the prodigal sacrifice of human life which had occurred in almost every house. The Johur had taken place, and many thousand females of all ages signalised the detestation of their foes by submitting to a voluntary death. Multitudes of either sex surrendered their lives, some by the sword, others on the flaming pile. Blood flowed in torrents. The steams of death rose to the fair heavens, which looked down calmly and beautifully, but through which glanced an omnipotent eye upon the violence, the follies, and the delinquencies of men.