Lady Elton and her children were under canvas. They had preferred this arrangement to accepting shelter from any of the houses thrown open to them, and the Soubahdar and his men having succeeded in saving many of their things, they had been able already to give their new quarters a tolerably home-like appearance. It was only in this way--in exerting themselves to set things straight 'for father,' who, they felt sure, must come in soon--that the girls could keep their mother cheerful, or that any of them could chase away the terrible despondency and shuddering fear which would, at times, take possession of them. For upon these unfortunate ladies, bred up in the traditions of the old Anglo-Indian, who looked upon a native as a cross between a machine and an animal--a creature to be treated with kindly contempt when he behaved himself, and to be promptly licked into shape when he did not--the mutiny fell like a bolt of fire out of a clear sky. They had heard rumours of discontent, but nothing came of them. They were disposed to think that the repressive measures had not been sufficiently severe, and when on May 9 the mutineers of the 3rd Native Cavalry, who had been condemned by their own countrymen, and sentenced to ten years' imprisonment, were stripped of their uniform and put in irons, while sorry for the unhappy men who had been so miserably deluded, they believed that this one severe example would be sufficient, and that no more would be heard of mutiny. Lady Elton was fond of quoting her husband in those days. 'The General says all they want is firmness. They are the best fellows in the world when you take them the right way. He ought to know, for he has had so much experience.' And then Maud would repeat her saucy little phrase about the riding-whip, and the ladies, who had come to consult them, would go away reassured. 'You may depend upon it,' they would say, 'General Elton and his wife know more about these people than we do.'