“Curses on the bad news!” Dundoo thundered, as he turned furiously and faced Bukht, who started away in alarm. “Twice to-day have those words sounded in my ears. Am I never to know security? am I never to have peace?” He paced up and down, fretting with rage. His arms were behind his back, and he played nervously with the jewellery on his fat fingers. Jewan waited for some minutes before he spoke. He knew it was better to let the Nana’s temper cool, for it was evident that he was excited with drink, and at such times his savage nature was capable of any atrocity. “I regret, your Highness,” Jewan said at last, “that I, your servant, should be so unfortunate as to incur your displeasure for having faithfully performed my duty.” “There, there, excuse me,” answered Dundoo, as he stopped in his walk. “I am irritable, and allowance must be made for me. Things do not work as smoothly as they ought, and it appears to me that every one who seeks me has bad news to tell.” “That is rather their misfortune than their fault,” was the answer. “Yes, yes; you are right. I will try in future to be less hasty. But now tell me what is the news you bring.” “General Havelock is making rapid marches upon Cawnpore.” “Pshaw! That is old news. Have you none other but that?” “Yes. A body of troops, under Major Renaud, is making desperate efforts to effect a junction with Havelock.” “Ah! That is bad. What is Havelock’s strength?” “I do not know exactly. His army is small, but is composed of some of the best of English troops; and he has a regiment of bare-legged soldiers.” “You mean Highlanders!” exclaimed the Nana, as he ground his teeth. “May the Prophet confound them, for they are invincible. They seem to draw fresh life from every blast of their unearthly pipes, and they fight like devils.” “Still they may be conquered by numbers; and we have numbers, your Highness.” “True, true; and we will send legions against them to stop their advance. But how about Renaud? What is his strength?” “He is at the head of the Madras Fusiliers, but their number is not great.” “The Madras Fusiliers!” echoed the Nana, while a look of fear passed across his face, for he knew that this regiment was celebrated throughout India. It was evident that some of the best troops were coming against him. His own troops only mustered about ten thousand strong, horse and foot, and when he had spoken of hurling legions against the advancing foe his mind was running upon the hundreds of thousands of natives who peopled the city and the villages. But what could the untrained hordes do against the very flower of England’s Indian army? It seemed to him now as if the dream was to be realised, and that the meshes were tightening around him. He paced up and down again, his eyes bent upon the ground. “Your Highness is troubled,” Jewan observed. “I am troubled, for I see that unless the march of these British is checked they will very soon be in our city.” “But we must check them.”