And meanwhile Trixy's brave little heart fell, for there came no news from Bertie. During the latter days of June they heard little news of any kind at Meerut. The surrounding country had fallen back into the state of anarchy from which the strong hand of the British Government had redeemed it. In all the towns where there had been risings, the gates of the gaols had been thrown open, and convicts, released from their fetters, joined themselves to men of their caste--robber tribes, who had of late years been compelled to earn their bread by honest toil, but who had never lost their longing for the dear old days of rapine. These roamed through the country, committing deeds of violence everywhere. Turbulent spirits--dispossessed landowners in many cases and adopted sons of dead rajahs--went, with their followers, from village to village, raising forced contributions for the Holy War. With them came men of professed sanctity, Indian faquirs and Mohammedan moulvies, who carried firmans from the emperor, enthroned, as they asserted, in Delhi, and distributed, in his name, high-sounding titles and robes of honour. There were, indeed, moments of uneasiness amongst them. The battle of Ghazee-ood-deen-Nugger, between Delhi and Meerut, on the 31st of May, and the still more notable victory at Budlee-Ka-Serai, only five miles from the Imperial city, showed them that the race they were defying had life in it still. But what they lacked in audacity they gained in numbers. The English victories, moreover, decisive as they were for the moment, had little permanent effect. The army was like a swimmer in a stormy sea. As, with force and skill, they clove one wave of humanity, others surged up behind them innumerable, and not the wisest could say whereto this thing would reach. The people were encouraged to think that it would have no end; that from north to south, and from east to west, the whole of the land would rise in insurrection.