They were waiting in suspense; there was none who could foretaste their fate.
Meantime the news of the massacre had traveled far and an army of rescuers with Havelock at its head was on its way--at least an army which hoped to be rescuers.

It was crossing the country by forced marches, and strewing its way with its own dead men struck down by cholera, and by a heat which reached 135 deg.

It was in a vengeful fury, and it stopped for nothing neither heat, nor fatigue, nor disease, nor human opposition.
It tore its impetuous way through hostile forces, winning victory after victory, but still striding on and on, not halting to count results.

And at last, after this extraordinary march, it arrived before the walls of Cawnpore, met the Nana's massed strength, delivered a crushing defeat, and entered.
But too late--only a few hours too late.

For at the last moment the Nana had decided upon the massacre of the captive women and children, and had commissioned three Mohammedans and two Hindoos to do the work.