When Jewan Bukht had arrived at the Bhitoor Palace, he was at first at a loss where to convey Flora to, and into whose charge to give her. He could not let it be known that he had brought an Englishwoman with him, and he dare not neglect the business of his master, the Nana Sahib, by whom he was employed as the bearer of secret messages, and to stir up the smouldering fires of insubordination in the native regiments. When, in his mad infatuation for the white girl, he had decided to carry her away, he had not counted upon the costs of so doing, nor the difficulties that would beset him. But, being so far advanced, he could not turn back; he must make the best of circumstances. It was night when he reached the Palace. Flora was ill and semi-unconscious, and as he stood deliberating what course to pursue with reference to her, Wanna Ranu crossed his path. He knew the woman from previous visits to Cawnpore, and he immediately secured her as a custodian for his captive. For although she hated the white people she loved pice more; and pice would enable her to obtain ghee, a luxury to such as she that was worth doing much for. She knew the Palace well, particularly the tower. She was aware that the upper part of this Palace was untenanted; that the doors were strong, the locks good. And when Jewan had queried the possibility of Flora escaping, the hag had grinned maliciously, and exclaimed-- “Escape? No, no, my son; unless she has wings and can fly.” And so to this room Flora was taken, and the witch-like janitor was bound in promises such as the most depraved Indian will respect, to guard her well and secretly. Flora sat alone, gazing, as has been said, vacantly out into the night. Wanna had left her for a little while to cook her evening meal. The poor girl’s heart was heavy. It was as if a hand, cold and hard, was gripping it and squeezing out its life. She had been plunged with cruel suddenness into moral gloom; but the last thing in life to leave a person is hope; and although the brightness of this star had diminished to a feeble ray, it yet shone in her darkness and gave her courage. She trusted in the Giver of Life for a way out of her tribulation. She prayed, silently, fervently, to Him to shield her with His mighty arm; to beat down her enemies, to raise up a deliverer, to break the bonds that ensnared her. And yet withal it was weary waiting, and what wonder that her soul was heavily charged. She remembered the promise of Zeemit Mehal, and she knew that if Walter Gordon lived, he would follow her. If they went to Delhi, she thought, Zeemit would soon learn of Jewan’s departure, and Walter would still follow, if that was possible, even as the faithful Evangeline followed Gabriel.