In a few minutes a woman came up to say that the palanquin was in readiness at the gate of the zenana garden. A large cushion was taken off a divan, and Isobel was laid upon it and covered with a light shawl. Six of the female attendants lifted it and carried it downstairs, accompanied by Rabda and the mistress off the zenana, both closely veiled. Outside the gate was a large palanquin, with its bearers and four soldiers and an officer. The cushion was lifted and placed in the palanquin, and Rabda also took her place there. “Then you will not return today,” the woman said to her, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the officers “You will remain with her for a time, and afterwards go to see your friends in the town. I will send for you when I hear that you wish to return.” The curtains of the palanquin were drawn down; the bearers lifted it and started at once for Cawnpore. On arrival at the large building known as the Subada Ke Kothee the gates were opened at once at the order of the Nana’s officer, and the palanquin was carried across the courtyard to the door of the building which was used as a prison for the white women and children. It was taken into the great arched room and set down. Rabda stepped out, and the bearers lifted out the cushion upon which Isobel lay. “You will not be wanted any more,” Rabda said, in a tone of authority. “You can return to Bithoor at once!” As the door closed behind them several of the ladies came round to see this fresh arrival. Rabda looked round till her eye fell upon Mrs. Hunter, who was occupied in trying to hush a fractious child. She put her hand on her arm and motioned to her to come along. Surprised at the summons, Mrs. Hunter followed her. When they reached the cushion Rabda lifted the shawl from Isobel’s face. For a moment Mrs. Hunter failed to recognize her, but as Isobel opened her eyes and held out her hand she knew her, and with a cry of pity she dropped on her knees beside her. “My poor child, what have these fiends been doing to you?” “They have been doing nothing, Mrs. Hunter,” she whispered. “I am not so bad as I seem, though I have suffered a great deal of pain. I was carried away to Bithoor, to Nana Sahib’s zenana, and I have burnt my face with caustic and acid; they think I have some terrible disease, and have sent me here.” “Bravely done, girl! Bravely and nobly done! We had best keep the secret to ourselves; there are constantly men looking through the bars of the window, and some of them may understand English.” Then she looked up and said, “It is Miss Hannay, she was captured with us in the boats; please help me to carry her over to the wall there, and my daughter and I will nurse her; it looks as if she had been terribly burnt, somehow.”