This information came to me quite casually one day. We used to employ a Manipuri Shikari[14] to shoot wild duck for us during the cold weather, when my husband was not able to get them himself, and I sent for this man one day, and told him what I wanted him to get for us. He said he was not able to shoot, as the Jubraj had ordered him, as well as all the other men in his village, to bring their guns into the palace arsenal, and that all the villages in the neighbourhood had received similar commands. I let the man go, and went and repeated the story to my husband, who remarked that it looked as though preparations were being made to resist the ex-Maharajah, should he return to Manipur. Of course, on the receipt of the telegram from the Chief Commissioner, my husband had to inform the durbar of his approaching visit. Curiosity reached an overwhelming pitch, and the efforts of the Jubraj and his colleagues to find out what was going to happen were unceasing. They never quite believed that my husband was as ignorant as they were themselves about things, and invariably went away much disturbed. We ourselves were just as curious and longing to know what was really coming to pass. In the meanwhile I had arranged to leave for England. For more than three years our one talk had been of furlough and home, and now that the date of sailing had been really fixed, it seemed almost impossible to put it off in order to be at Manipur waiting to see the results of the Chief’s visit. My husband said, however, that he thought it would be more prudent if I arranged to go by an earlier steamer, to be out of danger in the event of anything serious happening, and consequently all the necessary arrangements were made for my departure. I couldn’t help feeling that I would rather stay, however, and, as I said to a friend in writing home, ‘see the fun,’ and my packing did not progress satisfactorily at all.