The assurance was so cheering, though entirely impersonal, that Penelope accepted the comfort perforce. They rode on steadily, and the regular beat of the horses’ hoofs was pleasant in its monotony. A continuous low murmur from Lady Haigh, punctuated by an occasional word or two from Sir Dugald, showed that she, at any rate, had no doubt of her right to exist and to demand a welcome. Penelope’s thoughts became somewhat confused. Scenes and images from the exciting panorama of the last three days danced before her eyes. She knew that they were unreal, but could not remember where she actually was. Suddenly they ceased, and she knew nothing more until a deep voice broke upon her slumbers-- “You would make a good cavalryman, Miss Ross. You can sleep in the saddle!” Bewildered, she gazed round her. The silvery light of the false dawn was spreading itself over the sky, and the familiar front of the Haighs’ house at Alibad looked weird and cold. They were actually inside the compound, riding up to the door, and startled servants were running out from their quarters to receive them. Lady Haigh dismounted with much agility, and came running to assist Penelope, who was still too much confused to allow herself to drop to the ground, but Major Keeling and Sir Dugald both remained in the saddle. “Don’t expect me till you see me,” said Sir Dugald to his wife. “I’ll send you a message when I can.” “And he shall have an hour’s leave when it can be managed,” said Major Keeling, turning his horse’s head. Then he looked back at the two ladies standing forlorn on the steps. “Now my advice to you is, go to bed and get a thorough rest. You needn’t be afraid. Tarleton and the Fencibles have the town in charge, though we are out on the plains.” “Oh, Elma, and we never thanked them!” cried Penelope, horror-struck, as the two officers and their escort disappeared. “_Thanked_ them! My dear Penelope, what good would thanks be? If we thanked those two men on our bended knees for ever, it wouldn’t come anywhere near proper gratitude for what they have done for us to-night. But come indoors, and let us hunt up some bedding. It’s all very well to advise us to go to bed; but every single thing we took into camp is burnt, so we must do the best we can.” “But the servants?” cried Penelope. “Oh, they stood in the water and escaped, and made the best of their way back to Alibad when the fire was over, but they didn’t save anything. Now I must give Hafiza into the charge of the _malli’s_ wife, and then we will go indoors.” The gardener’s wife was a Nalapuri woman, and quite willing to give shelter to her compatriot, who had been eyeing the European house with much disfavour; and Lady Haigh called up the two ayahs, and set them to work at making up some sort of beds, while she and Penelope had some tea. The moment they were alone she turned to Penelope and said, “Well?” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Penelope. “Oh, nonsense! Did he say anything?”