The morning of the third day dawned. The watchers were half dead with fatigue and anxiety; the children were crying out piteously for water; the women were faint, weary, and disheartened. When the sun rose the rebels made an attack in force; but they were driven back, and there were two or three hours of rest. Then the Ranee sent the besieged a message. All she wanted was the Fort. Let those within surrender it, and they would be allowed to go in peace whither they desired. Upon this another council was held. The boldest were for holding out. There was, indeed, little or no hope of successful resistance; but, if they must die, it would be better to die at their posts, fighting, like brave men, than to fall into the hands of their cruel and treacherous enemies. Had they been all men and combatants, this is the course they would have taken. Unhappily the larger number of the fifty and odd souls who were clustered together in the Fort were women and little children and men of peace. To them, as others urged, this offer of the Ranee gave the one and only loophole of escape that they could hope for, and so, with heavy hearts and ominous forebodings of evil, the brave men, who had counselled resistance, laid down their arms, the gates of the Fort were thrown open, and the Ranee's bodyguard marched in. * * * * * On the afternoon which witnessed the surrender of the English into the hands of the Ranee, two horsemen crossed the boundaries of the state, and stopped at a small village where one of them had friends. These advised them strongly to go no further, alleging that something extraordinary had been happening in the city. The two men refreshed themselves and their horses, and galloped on to a grove, which lay off the road, at a little distance from the village. Here, their horses being completely spent, they dismounted and let them rest. As they stood, with their hands on their bridle-reins, ready to mount and gallop at the least alarm, there came to their ears a rumbling noise as of distant thunder, and one of them--the master--said, 'We are too late. It has begun.' 'We are too late, Excellency. There is nothing for us to do now but to return whence we came,' answered the man. 'Go back you, Subdul! I must enter Jhansi, and see with my own eyes what is going on.' 'My master is not wise. He will not be able to help, and he will risk his own life, which is dear to his people.' 'Listen, Subdul!' said the young rajah, impressively. 'I have a friend in that city--a little child. She loves me and believes in me. All night long, while we were riding and resting, she has been beside me. I tell you it is no dream; it is a reality. She is calling me, and I must go. I must save my poor little Aglaia, or perish in the attempt. But you have no such call; and why should two of us risk our lives? Stay here, where you are known, or go back to Gumilcund.'