"Burnt to the ground. There is hardly a building left in the cantonment." "But what were the troops doing? At any rate, you are not besieged here yet." "We are on the verge of it. Unfortunately the Chief won't bring himself to disarm the sepoys, and the city is drifting into a worse condition daily. Half of the native corps have bolted, and the rest are ripe for trouble at the first opportunity. The fires are the work of incendiaries. We have caught and hanged a few, but they are swarming everywhere." "You say Wheeler has been in communication with you this morning," said the perplexed civilian. "Are you sure? It is true we escaped in the first instance from Bithoor, but Cawnpore was in flames last night and the Magazine in possession of the mutineers." "Oh, yes. We know that. The one thing these black rascals don't understand is the importance of cutting the telegraph wires. Wheeler has thrown up an entrenchment in the middle of a _maidan_. I am afraid he is in a tight place, as he is asking for help which we cannot send. Well, good-by! Hope to see you at tiffin. Miss Mayne must make herself as comfortable as she can in the women's quarters, and pray, like the rest of us, that this storm may soon blow over." He rode off, followed by an escort of mounted police. Malcolm, who had taken no part in the conversation, listened to Weston's words with a sinking heart. He had failed doubly, then, in the mission entrusted to him by Colvin. Not only were his despatches lost, but he was mistaken in believing that the Cawnpore garrison was overpowered. He had turned back at a moment when he should have strained every nerve to reach his destination. That was intolerable. The memory of the hawk-nosed, steel-eyed officer who rode from Kurnaul to Meerut in twenty-four hours smote him like a whip. Would Hodson--the man who was prepared to cross the infernal regions if duty called--would _he_ have quitted Cawnpore without making sure that Sir Hugh Wheeler was dead or a prisoner? The answer to that unspoken question brought such a look of pain to Frank's face that Winifred, watching him from the carriage window, wondered what was wrong. She, too, had heard the policeman's statement and was greatly relieved by it. Why should her lover be so perturbed, she wondered? Was it not good news that the English in Cawnpore were at least endeavoring to hold Nana Sahib at bay? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what sudden cloud had fallen on him when the carriage swung through a gateway and she found herself inside the Residency. The breathless greetings exchanged between herself and many of her friends among the ladies of the garrison drove from her mind the misery she had seen in Frank's stern-set features. But the thought recurred later and she spoke of it.