"Good Heaven! what is the matter, colonel?"

"The native troops at Meerut have mutinied, have murdered their officers
and all the European men, women, and children they could find, and are
marching upon Delhi. Look after your regiment."

A low cry broke from the major. This was indeed awful news, and for a
moment the two men sat half-stunned at the calamity, while the sound of
music and merry talk came in through the open window like a mockery on
their ears.

"Let us take a turn in the compound," said the major, "where no one can
hear us."

For half an hour they walked up and down the garden. There could be no
doubt about the truth of the news, for it was an official telegram from
the adjutant at Meerut; and as to the extent of the misfortune, it was
terrible.

"There is not a single white regiment at Delhi," exclaimed the colonel;
"these fiends will have it all their own way, and at Delhi there are
scores of European families. Delhi once in their hands will be a center,
and the mutiny will spread like wildfire over India. What was the general
at Meerut about? what were the white troops up to? It is as inexplicable
as it is terrible. Is there anything to be done, major, do you think?" But
Major Warrener could think of nothing. The men at present knew nothing of
the news, but the tidings would reach them in two or three days; for news
in India spreads from village to village, and town to town, with almost
incredible speed, and Meerut was but a hundred and fifty miles distant.