“I remember,” he said to her, when the parent was just beyond hearing, “that you were quite skillful with your weapon.”

“Not specially so, but what skill I gained is due to your tuition.”

“Not so much to that as to the aptness of the pupil.”

“Your remark is more gallant than true, but I hope I shall not be called upon to use this weapon as you used yours awhile ago.”

“Such is my prayer, but if the necessity arises do not hesitate.”

“Be assured I shall not,” she replied, with a flash of her fine eyes and a compression of her lips.

CHAPTER V.

Companions in flight.

Everything needed having been gathered, the lamps were extinguished, and with the physician in the lead, the three passed out of the front door to the veranda.  The doctor decided to leave the door unfastened, since it was useless to secure it.

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 suspected all that you have told me.  Are you alone and why do you come to me?”

“I fled with my wife and two other families, Turner and Wharton, from the outskirts of Meerut as soon as there seemed a chance for us.  We made our way to the river, found a boat and paddled to this place, for we had no sail and there was scarcely any wind.”

“Where are your friends?”

“I left them by the edge of the river in the boat, promising to rejoin them in a few minutes.”

“Have you no companions, but those you named?”

“None; my wife and I buried two children last Summer; Mr. Turner has none, and Mr. Wharton and his young wife were but recently married.”