"gracious!" Ned exclaimed; "we have got into the women's garden."
In another minute a group of women came in sight. The principal figure was a young woman of some twenty-two or twenty-three, with a red wafer-like patch on her orehead, and very richly dressed.
"She is a Hindoo," Ned whispered; "what luck!"
There are indeed very few Hindoos in Oude, and the Mohammedan being the dominant race, a Hindoo would naturally feel far more favorably inclined toward a British fugitive than a Mohammedan would be likely to do, as the triumph of the rebellion could to them simply mean a restoration of Mahommedan supremacy in place of the far more tolerant British rule.
Next to the ranee walked an old woman, who had probably been her nurse, and was now her confidant and adviser. The rest were young women, clearly dependants.
"And so, Ahrab, we must give up our garden and go into Cawnpore, and in such weather, too!"
"It must be so indeed," the elder woman said. "These Mohammedans doubt us, and so insist on your highness showing your devotion to the cause by taking up your residence in Cawnpore, and sending in all your retainers to join in the attack on the English.
The ranee looked sad.
"They say there are hundreds of women and little children there," she said, "and that the English who are defending them are few."
"It is so," Ahrab said. "But they are brave. The men of the Nana and the old regiments, are fifty to one against them, and the cannon fire night and day, and yet they do not give way a foot."
"They are men, the English sahibs."
