He's half-dead too." "My name is Cunningham." "I'm Miss McClean.

My father was a missionary in Howrah." She nodded to a chair beside her, and Cunningham took it, feeling awkward, as men of his type usually do when they meet a woman in a strange place.
"How in the world did you get in ?" she asked him.

"It's two days now since the Alwa-sahib told us that the whole country is in rebellion.

How is it that you managed to reach here?
According to Alwa, no white man's life is safe in the open, and he only told me today that he wouldn't let me go away even if I were well enough to ride." "First I've heard of rebellion!" said Cunningham aghast at the notion of hearing news like that a second hand, and from a woman.
"Hasn't Alwa told you ?" "He hasn't had time to, yet." "Then, you'd better ask him.

If what he say is true--and I think he tells the truth--the natives mean to kill us all, or drive us out of India.