Another and another quickly followed. His heart beat violently; a clammy perspiration stood upon his brow; not from any craven fear, but from the awful thought that murder and rapine were broken loose, and he, young and active, with an arm powerful to wield a sword, was imprisoned there, and utterly helpless as if he had been bound in iron gyves. “Heaven above,” he cried, “is there no hope for me?” Scarcely had the words left his lips than he was made aware that a key was being inserted in the lock of the small iron door in the recess. He would have given much at that moment for a weapon. Even a stick he would have been grateful for. But his arms were yet free. He had the power of youth in them, and he was determined to make a bold effort, to let at least one life go out with his own, and he resolved that the first man who entered he would endeavour to strangle. He stood up in the recess, ready to spring forward. The key grated harshly; the lock had evidently not been used for some time. Then there was the sound of bolts being worked in their sockets. It was a moment of awful suspense. Nay, it seemed an age to him, as he stood there panting and waiting, with rapidly beating heart, for what might be revealed. Presently the bolts yielded. The key was turned, and a long strip of light illuminated the recess. “Hush, silence, for your life!” a soft voice whispered; and to his astonished gaze there appeared the form of Haidee, who bore in her hand a small lamp, and whose figure was clothed in the ordinary muslin garments worn by the native peasant women. CHAPTER V. THE TREACHERY OF THE KING. When the mutineers had got clear of Meerut, they straggled along the great highway towards the Imperial City. They were a broken horde now; some of them were mounted, some on foot, while the scum and villainy of the bazaars followed in their wake. A mile or two in advance of them was Jewan Bukht, with the captive Flora Meredith, who had remained in a state of insensibility in the bottom of the buggy from the time of leaving the bungalow. As his horse tore along, he occasionally glanced backward, and smiled with satisfaction as he saw the flames of the burning city leaping high in the air. The rays of the rising sun were burnishing the domes and minarets of the Imperial City as he arrived on the banks of the Jumna, which looked like liquid gold in the morning light. He hurried across the bridge of boats to the Calcutta Gate, where a few hours before Lieutenant Harper had entered. He was well known to the guard at the gate, who greeted him with laughter and cheers. Flora had recovered her senses, but was weary and ill; but as the horse’s hoofs clattered on the stone pavement, she raised her head, and looked out. When the Sepoys at the gate saw her, they set up a loud laugh, and exclaimed, “Oh, oh, Jewan, thou hast done well!”