nursing their wrath at the reproaches of
Dewan Sewlal.

And the Dewan, in spite of his bold denunciation of the decoits, was
uneasy. If they went back to Karowlee with a story of ill treatment,
of broken promises, that hot-headed old Rajput would turn against
Sindhia. And the present policy of the Mahratta Confederacy was to
secure allies in the revolt against the British which was being
secretly planned. The Dewan was also afraid of Nana Sahib. He saw in
that young man a coming force. The Peshwa was actually the ruler of
Mahrattaland; he had a commanding influence because he was the head of
the Brahmins--the Brahmins were the real power--and his adopted son,
his inborn subtle nature developed by his residence in England, now had
great influence over him. The Dewan knew that; and if he failed to
carry out this mission of removing the dangerous one from Nana Sahib's
path it might cost him his place as Minister.

In his perplexity the Dewan asked Baptiste to formulate some excuse for
getting Nana Sahib up to Chunda--some matter affecting the troops, so
that he might casually get a sustaining suggestion from the wily Prince.

It so happened that when Nana Sahib swung up the gravelled drive to the
Sirdar's bungalow on a golden chestnut Arab, Sewlal was there. But
when, presently, Baptiste's _durwan_ came in to say that Jamadar Hunsa
of the new troops was sending his salaams to the Dewan, the latter
gasped. He would have told the Bagree to wait, but Nana Sahib,
catching the name Hunsa, commanded:

"By all means, my dear Baptiste, have that living embodiment of murder
in. His face is a delight. You know"--and he smiled at the
General--"that that frightfulness of expression is the very reason why
the genial Kali has such a hold upon our people. You've seen her,
Baptiste; four arms, one holding a platter to catch the blood that
drips from a head she suspends above it by another arm; the third hand
clasps a sword, and the fourth has the palm spread out as much as to
say, 'That is what will happen to you.'"

The Frenchman shivered. He was snapping a finger and thumb in mental
torture.

But Nana Sahib chuckled: "Her tongue protrudes thirsting for more
blood--"

But the Sirdar protested: "Prince--pardon, but--"

"My dear Baptiste, when the Hunsa comes in observe if these things are
not all stamped by Brahm on his frontispiece; he fascinates me."

The Dewan, devout Brahmin, had been running his fingers along a