Suddenly, when the doctor was about to give the word to move, he saw a
shadowy figure in the direction of the river.

"Sh!" he whispered; "it looks as if we had waited too long; some one is
approaching. Be ready to use your gun or to retreat into the house if
necessary to fight it out there."

"It is a white man," said the daughter in an undertone; "he may be a
patient."

It was clear by this time that the stranger was not a native, for he
was dressed in civilized costume and his gait was that of a European.
He did not perceive the silent figures until within a few paces of the
veranda, when he paused abruptly, as if startled.

"Good evening," he said in English. "Is this Dr. Marlowe?"

"It is; who are you?"

"My name is Anderson; I was looking for you."

"In what way can I serve you?"

"You have heard the news, I suppose," said the man, keeping his
position, and looking up to the three, who were now all on the edge of
the veranda; "the native soldiers at Meerut mutinied yesterday, killed
most of their officers, plundered the city, slaying every white person
they could find, after which most of them hurried to Delhi."

"You bring dreadful tidings; I had heard nothing definite, but