"Now," the jemadar shouted, "search the house; kill the boys, but keep the white women; they are too pretty to hurt."
Two minutes' search—in which furniture was upset, curtains pulled down and chests ransacked—and a shout of rage proclaimed that the house was empty.
The jemadar shouted to his men: "Search the compound; they can't be far off; some of you run out to the plain; they can't have got a hundred yards away; besides our guards out there will catch them."
The old nurse rose to her feet just as the Sepoys were rushing out on the search.
"It is of no use searching," she said; "they have been gone an hour."
"Gone an hour!" shouted the enraged jemadar; "who told them of the attack?"
"I told them," Saba said steadily; "Saba was true to her salt."
There was a yell of rage on the part of the mutineers, and half a dozen bayonets darted into the faithful old servant's body, and without a word she fell dead on the veranda, a victim to her noble fidelity to the children she had nursed.
"Now," the jemadar said, "strip the place; carry everything off; it is all to be divided to-morrow, and then we will have a blaze."
Five minutes sufficed to carry off all the portable articles from the bungalow; the furniture, as useless to the Sepoys, was left, but everything else was soon cleared away, and then the house was lit in half a dozen places. The fire ran quickly up the muslin curtains, caught the dry reeds of the tatties, ran up the bamboos which formed the top of the veranda, and in five minutes the house was a sheet of flame.
