Behind them was Cawnpore, a city red with the blood of slaughtered innocence, a city filled with cowardly assassins, who, in their supposed triumph, made night hideous with their drunken shouts. Before them was Delhi and the unknown future. Walter Gordon and Haidee travelled along in silence; both were occupied with their own thoughts. He was racked with many conflicting emotions; hopes and fears struggled in his breast. One moment he was inclined to think that he was going upon a very wild goose chase, the next his steps could not move fast enough to satisfy his craving desire to be at the end of the journey. More than a month since Flora Meredith had been carried over that very road, a captive, to the city of the King. What had befallen her during that month? Was it possible for her sensitive nature to have borne up against the shocks and trials to which she had been exposed? Even if she lived and was still confined in Delhi, which was an immense place, how could he hope to find her? Would it not be very much like looking for the proverbial needle in the bottle of hay? But assuming that he should be fortunate enough to discover her whereabouts, would it be possible for him to rescue her? It was true that Zeemit Mehal had gone in search of her, and Zeemit was faithful, and a native; but she was also old and ill, and might have died long ago. As he thus reasoned with himself, it seemed to him that his journey, after all, was a little Quixotic, and it might be better, now that he was free, to make his way to Meerut, and there endeavour to raise a little corps to proceed to the Imperial City, and attempt a rescue by force, should Flora still be living. He suggested this to Haidee, and gave her his reasons for coming to that conclusion, but she only laughed, for to her the plan seemed so absurd.