Tooni had only her own reflections.
There would be no more shooting, and the Nana Sahib would let them all go away in boats; that was good khaber--good news.

Tooni wondered, as she put the baby's clothes together in one bundle, and her own few possessions together in another, whether it was to be believed.

The Nana Sahib so hated the English; had not the guns spoken of his hate these twenty-one days?
Inside the walls many had died, but outside the walls might not all die?
The doctor had said that the Nana Sahib had written it; but why should the Nana Sahib write the truth?
The Great Lord Sahib, the Viceroy, had sent no soldiers to compel him.

Nevertheless, Tooni packed what there was to pack, and soothed the baby with a little goat's milk and water, and dressed her mistress as well as she was able, according to the doctor's directions.

Then she went out to where old Abdul, the table-waiter, her husband, crouched under a wall, and told him all that she knew and feared.