som, and he had to
take it to the next regiment."

"But what did it mean?" I asked.

"I can tell you no more, sahib. It was their secret sign. And then,
after a time, the chupatties were sent round to the villages."

"Chupatties? The little cakes?"

"Yes, sahib, and that was a sign. A messenger went to the head man of a
village, and gave him six little cakes of Indian corn. `These are for
you,' he said. `You will make six more, and send them on to the next
village.' This the head man did, and the cakes passed on from village
to village, as a sign that the rising was to take place, and all were to
be ready when the time came."

"But it seems so stupid," I said. "Why not have sent a messenger?"

"The cause was too great to risk anything. It was more mysterious to
send like that. They knew what it meant; but if the collector or the
police heard, and said, `What is this?--ye are plotting against your
lords;' they could reply, `No, it is nothing; the head man of the next
village has only sent me a few chupatties.' Who else would think it was
a secret sign?"

I knew comparatively little about the people then, and the question
seemed to me unanswerable.

I rode on, depressed and thoughtful, for a terrible idea had taken root
in my breast. These people of Arbagh had been surprised, and, saving a
few who had escaped, murdered without mercy, and with horrible
indignities. Suppose there had been such a sudden rising at Nussoor,
where my father's regiment was stationed, what of my mother and my
sister Grace?

A cold perspiration broke out all over me, and a mist rose before my
eyes, through which the horrors that had taken place at Arbagh rose out,
at first dimly, and then clearer and clearer; but with those I loved as
victims, and I was shuddering with horror, and so wrapped up in my own
thoughts, that I did not notice that Brace had ridden up alongside, and
he had gripped my arm before I knew he was there.

"Why, Gil, lad," he said sharply, "what is it? The sun? Come, I can't
afford to have you ill."

"Ill?" I gasped. "No, I'm not ill."

"Then why do you look so strange?"

I made an effort to recover myself, and told him as calmly as I could
all that Dost had said to me.

"Yes," he said, after hearing me patiently to the end, "the man is
honest enough; and there must have been some such mystic message sent
round. These people are believers in symbolism and parable. It is bad
news, Gil, and I