“Your notions are exaggerated,” he answered coolly, “and your fears with respect to the unlimited power of these British groundless. They are headstrong--impetuous--rash. They are rushing blindly on to their fate. My spies inform me that they are weak both in guns and men. We can bring an overwhelming force against them, and literally annihilate them. Meanwhile, the revolt spreads well; every city in India is asserting its independence of these foreigners, and so mighty shall we become that if every man in England were sent against us, we could defy them. I tell you the power of England is waning, if not already destroyed. The White Hand stiffens in the coldness of death.” A thoughtful expression spread itself over the Nana’s face. Azimoolah’s words sank deep. Whenever he faltered and doubted himself this familiar was at hand to give him new hope. Bloodthirsty and revengeful as he was, he was, after all, but a puppet, and would have been powerless to have moved if others had not pulled the strings. “I think you are right--I think you are right,” he said, “and we will contest the advance of these Feringhees. Let no time be lost in getting our troops in motion; and let it be proclaimed far and near that a lac of rupees shall be the reward to him who first captures Havelock, and brings him in living or dead.” “The rupees were better in our treasury, your Highness,” answered Azimoolah. “Havelock shall fall without any such rash expenditure. His miserable force will be cut to pieces in the first encounter with our troops!” In a little while Cawnpore was once more in a wild state of commotion. Far and near was heard the sound of the bugle as it called to arms. The artillery rumbled along, and thousands of trained troops were sent out to oppose the advance of the English. Bala Rao, the Nana’s brother, was placed in command of one division, and he was the first to march. As the afternoon wore on, a messenger, breathless and travel-stained, arrived at the Palace, and sought an interview with the Nana. This was no other than Jewan Bukht. He had been out for some days, by command of his master, visiting all the villages within twenty miles of Cawnpore, proclaiming the power of Dundoo, and inciting the natives to rise and massacre the Europeans. It was evident Jewan Bukht brought news of importance, for his face bore a look of anxiety, if not alarm. Jewan had to wait some time before the Nana consented to see him; for the monster was passing his time with the females of his household, and trying to still the voice of conscience by draughts of strong drink. When he did present himself before his agent he was flushed and excited, and his eyes were bloodshot. “How now, Jewan?” he cried. “Why do you come at such an inopportune moment to disturb my peace?” “I bring bad news, your Highness.”