Peace with Honour

“So far, so good. Now on with our burkas, Rahah. That’s right, put the bottle back into the box. There is a smell of the spirit about. Knock over that bottle of camphor and break it. Oh, they are coming! Kneel down, Rahah, and be nailing the cover on the box in a most tremendous hurry.”

Rahah entered into her part with keen delight, jerked the camphor-bottle to the floor with her elbow, and jumped up with a most artistically guilty start when Dick and Stratford entered with the four Ethiopians, while Georgia dropped the hammer with a clatter on the stones.

“What is in that box which the women are nailing up?” demanded Abd-ur-Rahim, sharply, while the faces of his followers betrayed much excitement, not unmixed with triumph.

“Do they really want to know?” asked Georgia, with something like pity in her tones, when the question was translated to her. “Well, I will show them if they are so anxious to see it.”

Lifting the lid, she drew out with one hand the bottle containing the snake, and with the other one which enclosed a very evil-looking deformed frog, and held them out to the inquisitors, who recoiled precipitately.

“They are the devils which obeyed the English doctor who was carried off by Shaitan from his house at Kubbet-ul-Haj!” was the murmur which went round.

“There are plenty more in the box,” said Georgia, cheerfully. “You can unpack them for yourselves if you would like to look at them; only I would advise you for your own sakes to take care not to break the bottles.”

“Is it true that if the bottles were opened the devils would get loose?” asked one of the Ethiopians, in an awful whisper.

“It is quite true that if the bottles are opened what is in them will come out,” responded Georgia, setting down on the box the two she had been holding; “but you shall see for yourselves what will happen.”

She lifted the bottle containing the frog, as though to hurl it in the direction of the visitors, but Abd-ur-Rahim interposed hastily in much agitation.

“Let my lord entreat the doctor lady to let the evil things remain where they are,” he said to Stratford. “Surely he must know that I have but obeyed the commands I have received, and that I have done my best to save him and his company from all annoyance. Moreover, though the doctor lady should destroy these men and myself by her magic, my soldiers outside would certainly set the palace on fire, and burn her and all my lord’s company, when they found out what had happened. Suffer her not, then, to work us evil, and we will but ask her a few questions and depart.”

With a face of the utmost gravity, Stratford translated the entreaty, and the questions which followed it, to Georgia, who was much impressed by the opinion entertained by Abd-ur-Rahim as to her powers and her willingness to use them.

“Has the doctor lady the treaty concealed about her, or has her maid got it?”

“Certainly not.”

“Is it in any of those boxes?”

“No, it is not in any of them.”

“Is it hidden anywhere in the floor or the walls?”

“Nowhere in the floor or the walls.”

“Does the doctor lady know where it is?”

“I refuse to say.”

“Who can trust the words of a woman?” asked one of the officers, rudely. “The doctor lady has it hidden.”

“Tell them that I am St George Keeling’s daughter, Mr Stratford,” cried Georgia, angrily, guessing the drift of the remark from the tone, “and ask them whether it is likely that I should tell a lie?”

Stratford translated the words, and the name produced an impression which showed that the fame of the Warden of the Marches had spread beyond his own border.

“In my youth,” said Abd-ur-Rahim, “I have faced Sinjāj Kīlin in peace and war, and I know well that no son or daughter of his house could be a liar.”

Georgia’s wrath calmed down, and Rahah, feeling that she was responsible for maintaining the honour of the house of Keeling, suppressed the falsehood which rose to her lips when she was asked whether she knew where the treaty was, and imitated her mistress in declining to say.

“And now we need only question the great lady,” said Abd-ur-Rahim, when Rahah’s examination was over; and Georgia went in search of Lady Haigh, and brought her into the hall, worried and protesting, and determined that no one should approach Sir Dugald’s sick-room. She was much easier to deal with than the rest.

“I haven’t an idea where the treaty is, and if I had, I wouldn’t tell you,” was her answer to Abd-ur-Rahim’s question. “Why do you come bothering me about treaties? Ask Mr Stratford; he is the proper person.”

“But is it not hidden anywhere in the great lady’s apartments?”

“I should think not, indeed! I have something else to do besides hiding treaties. Georgie, I want you to come and see Sir Dugald at once. I am sure he is not so well.”

“The man of many words must have dropped the treaty into the sand as he came hither,” said one of the Ethiopians in a low voice to his chief, as Georgia retired with Lady Haigh.

“Nay, that he could not have done without my seeing him,” objected Abd-ur-Rahim.

“He may have hidden it among the rocks where we first came upon these English,” suggested another.

“It is well thought of; I will have the place searched,” said Abd-ur-Rahim. “But mark me—my opinion is that none of those here know where it is. It has been given to the youth who is missing, and he is to escape with it or to hide it. Therefore let the youth be pursued and taken. The rest are trying to lead us to think that they have it concealed among them here, that so he may get away in safety.”

This explanation of their defeat appeared to satisfy the Ethiopians, and they returned to the outer rooms, accompanied by Dick and Stratford, who were almost as much mystified as they were.

CHAPTER XX.
FOR THE HONOUR OF ENGLAND’S SAKE.

Half an hour later, Georgia stepped out of the great latticed window on the terrace, and kneeling beside the parapet, rested her arms on it, and looked away over the desert. There in the distance rose the walls and towers of Bir-ul-Malikat, Fath-ud-Din’s second fortress, which crowned the top of a conical hill some four miles from Bir-ul-Malik. Within those walls old Khadija, the sorceress, bore rule, and held in her grasp the knowledge which alone could save Sir Dugald’s life. Lady Haigh’s intuition had been a true one, although there was no outward change in her husband’s condition. Whether the sand-storm and the hurried journeyings of the day had brought about a loss of vitality, or whether they had merely rendered perceptible a failure which had hitherto been too gradual to be noticed, it was undeniable that the pulse was less regular, and the action of the heart more feeble than before. The insidious poison administered by Fath-ud-Din was sapping Sir Dugald’s life away, and, unless the mysterious antidote could be obtained, his protracted unconsciousness would before long pass into death.

“I must see this Khadija,” said Georgia to herself, as her eyes wandered over the desert, “and find out whether anything will induce her to sell her secret. I might introduce myself to her as a sister in the craft—Abd-ur-Rahim and his men would bear me out—and suggest an interchange of ideas. There must be quite a number of things I could tell her, and I could set her up with a few medicines. The effects would be wonderful to her. But then, she might not care for remedies, and I am certainly not going to put more poisons into her hands. I fancy that killing is more in her line than curing. What was it that Rahah told me she said when a girl asked her for a love-philtre? ‘I shall make no love-philtre but one, and that will be for my Rose of the World to give her bridegroom on the marriage-night.’ I’m afraid she would not care about the opportunity of doing kindnesses. She must be fond of the girl Zeynab—perhaps it might be possible to work upon her feelings through her. At any rate, I must see her; but how am I to manage it? Dick would be very angry if I went without telling him, and yet I am sure he would prevent my going if he knew of it. But I will go, even if I have to break with Dick about it. To leave Sir Dugald to die, and make Lady Haigh a widow, when I knew where the remedy was to be found, just for fear of vexing Dick, would be shameful. I shall be obliged to oppose him some day, and it is a good thing to do it for the first time in such an absolutely righteous cause. There can be no doubt whatever as to my being in the right this time, but I’m sure he won’t see it. I do wish people would be a little more reasonable!”

She was tapping her stethoscope impatiently against the stones as she spoke, and it slipped suddenly from her fingers and rolled over the edge of the parapet. Looking after it, she saw that, instead of dropping or rolling down into the plain, as she had expected, it had lodged on a projection in the cliff, not more than twenty feet below the parapet, where a few tufts of withered-looking grass had found holding-ground. Still, it was quite beyond her power to reach it.

“How careless of me!” she said, with deep vexation. “My dear old hospital stethoscope! I wonder whether it could be reached from here? I think a man with a rope might be able to get it. How much astonished Dick would be if I asked him to go down for it! I wonder whether he would go? He would send one of the servants, I should think. It would be quite easy to let him down and draw him up again. What a convenient little shelf that is! It would be rather a good place to put the treaty in, for if they catch Mr Anstruther and find he has not got it, they may come back and make another search. I wonder whether it would be safe? I don’t think the cover would show among that grass.”

Leaning over the parapet, she scanned the face of the cliff, and raised herself to her former position with some disappointment.

“It would be very difficult to drop it just in the right place,” she went on meditatively; “and, if there was a storm, the rain would be sure to wash it away. Of course, it might lodge somewhere lower down—or it might not; and, if it did, we might not be able to get at it. Why, it looks as though there might be a path right up the cliff to the shelf! It is quite a series of steps and ledges, and projecting stones, and tufts of grass. It would need a very cool head to climb it, and a sure foot too, but I believe it could be done. It might be very dangerous, for any one could get in and attack us without our knowing. They could hide among those ruined huts at the foot of the cliff, and choose a time when none of us were out here. Of course, they couldn’t very well get up as far as this from the shelf, for the cliff overhangs just at the top, and there are no projections; but they might have a rope-ladder with a hook at the top to throw up and catch in something, or some other way of doing it. It doesn’t feel a bit safe. I know I shall dream that there are men getting up here all night; but I won’t be silly and frighten the rest. It’s all nonsense! No one could climb this last piece of the cliff.”

Notwithstanding the certainty of this assurance, the memory of that giddy path, probably made in the rainy season by the wild goats, haunted Georgia, and when bedtime came she stole out again to make sure that there was no one climbing up it. In the great bare room behind her, Rahah, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was contemplating with much satisfaction the arrangements she had devised for the night. It so happened that among the luggage that had gone astray was Georgia’s mattress and pillow. This loss Rahah had repaired by lying in wait for Dick and informing him of it, receiving, as she had anticipated, an order to carry off his bedding for Miss Keeling’s benefit. She obeyed promptly, regardless of the wrath of his bearer, who cursed her audibly whenever he saw her, for the duty of spoiling the Egyptians was one very congenial to Rahah’s mind. In her view, it was part of a lady’s-maid’s business to exploit every other human being with an eye to her mistress’s pleasure or welfare, and if the Major Sahib was willing to sleep on the floor in order that the doctor lady should be in comfort, it was not for her to baulk him. Georgia, of course, knew nothing, and was to know nothing of this little arrangement; and Rahah sat and yawned, and blinked sleepily at the lamp, and wished that her mistress would come to bed quickly and not stay looking down that horrible cliff.

But Georgia, leaning over the parapet and staring down into the darkness, saw more than the indeterminate outlines of rocks and sun-dried bushes. Her heart was in her mouth as she peered down the cliff, for she felt certain that she had seen something moving below, and that it, whatever it might be, was climbing the hazardous path she had noticed by daylight. Too much fascinated and horror-stricken to move, she remained leaning over the edge until Lady Haigh stepped out of the carved doorway behind her and startled her by speaking suddenly.

“Oughtn’t you to be coming to bed, Georgie? It is very late, and you have had an anxious day. What are you looking at down there?”

“Oh, Lady Haigh, there is some one—a man or several men—climbing up the cliff!” was the gasping answer, as Georgia turned round with a blanched face.

Lady Haigh pushed her gently aside and looked over as she had done.

“There is something there, certainly,” she whispered; “but it is almost sure to be only a goat.”

Somewhat reassured, Georgia returned to her post of vantage, and side by side they watched together the upward progress of the dark body, until the sound of labouring breath reached them, showing that the climb must be a severe one.

“It is a man,” said Lady Haigh. “Can they get quite to the top?”

“No, about twenty feet down the cliff begins to slope outwards.”

“Then we won’t alarm the gentlemen just yet. It may be only one of our own servants trying to discover us, and we don’t want him to fall into Abd-ur-Rahim’s hands. We shall soon see whether this man’s intentions are hostile.”

“He has reached the ledge now,” gasped Georgia. “He is resting.”

The mysterious visitor seemed inclined to make no further effort for the present, for he remained motionless during several anxious moments; but at last a very low, clear whistling became audible, to which Lady Haigh and Georgia listened in astonishment and trepidation.

“It must be a signal,” whispered Georgia. “No,” she cried, suddenly, “I know that tune! It is the ‘Battle of the Boyne,’ and a minute ago it was ‘Derry Walls.’ Lady Haigh, it’s Mr Anstruther!”

“Is it you, Mr Anstruther?” asked Lady Haigh, in a low voice. The answer came back promptly.

“It is myself, very much at your service, Lady Haigh, if I could only get near enough to serve you. Are you all right?”

“Quite safe at present,” returned Georgia; “but we have gone through some thrilling experiences during the day. How did you find us out?”

“Lost my way in the sand-storm, and wandered round the wrong side of the hill. I took shelter among those ruins down below, and my horse is there still. When I ventured out to scout a little, I saw the Mission taking a prominent part—and I guessed an unwilling one—in a procession up the hill and into the fortress, so I returned to my hiding-place and planned doughty deeds. But could you get me up this last piece of cliff by any means?—for it’s rather exhausting to carry on a long conversation in a stage-whisper, craning one’s neck upwards all the while. Besides, I have some of your property about me, Miss Keeling, which I should be glad to restore to you. By the bye, did you lose anything about five o’clock this afternoon, when you stood looking over the edge for such a long time? It was that which enabled me to locate you so smartly.”

“Yes, I dropped my pet stethoscope, and I shall be extremely grateful if you can find it. It fell on the ledge where you are sitting. But I will just go and send Rahah to see whether it is safe to call the rest to pull you up.”

She returned in a few minutes with her arms full of pieces of rope.

“We can do nothing at present. Rahah reconnoitred through the key-hole or in some such way, and she says that the gentlemen have got a ‘party.’ Mr Stratford is playing chess with Abd-ur-Rahim, and the other two are talking to his officers. She is to bring us word at once when the party breaks up, and in the meantime I have taken all the ropes from the boxes, and Lady Haigh and I can fasten them together. The rope will be fearfully knotty, but perhaps that will make it safer.”

“It will be all the better,” said Fitz, decisively, “for we need not wait for the other fellows to come and pull me up. If you and Lady Haigh will fasten the rope round something firm, and pull at it both together with all your strength to test the knots, you can send me the end, and I will come up hand over hand if you will help to hoist me over the parapet.”

The two ladies agreed to this proposition with fear and trembling, and many hopes that Dick and Stratford would arrive before the construction of the rope was completed. But they did not come, and the knots were tied and tested, and the rope fastened with extraordinary care round the stone pillar which formed the central support of the carved lattice-work of the window. With many cautions, the other end was passed down to Fitz, and he came up it in a way which extorted mingled admiration and terror from the watchers. Helping hands assisted him over the parapet, and at last he stood safe and sound upon the terrace.

“Well,” he said, cheerfully, “I shall have to tell the gymnasium instructor at Whitcliffe Grammar School how useful his teaching has been when I get home. Without it I might have remained on that ledge all night, and serenaded you with Orange ditties at a hopeless distance, Miss Keeling. But I mustn’t forget to restore you your lost property. There is your stethoscope, and here is your cat.”

Untying the handkerchief he presented to her, and which had been secured in some complicated way to the buttonholes of his coat, Georgia released Colleen Bawn, very much rumpled and highly indignant, from her imprisonment, and deposited her on the ground, soothing her ruffled feelings and fur by a little friendly stroking.

“I am ashamed to think you should have taken so much trouble about her, Mr Anstruther. Thank you very, very much, and for finding the stethoscope too. What do you think of doing now?”

“I should rather like some grub, if there is any going. I haven’t had anything since breakfast, for I hadn’t the forethought to take meat lozenges with me, as Stratford did. Biscuits, or something of that sort that is at hand, and won’t need preparing, for I don’t intend to stay here, and I don’t want to be caught.”

A frugal meal of biscuits, potted meat, and water, in which Colleen Bawn claimed a share, was quickly set before Fitz, and when his hunger was partially satisfied he looked up.

“Lady Haigh, I want you to exert your authority. When I found that you were all in here, and I was outside, I had some thoughts of making for the frontier at once and fetching help; but then I hit on another plan. I want Miss Keeling to come too. My horse has been resting ever since the storm, and is perfectly fresh, and she could ride him splendidly if we changed the saddle. I could walk all right, and we should be a good way towards Fort Rahmat-Ullah in the morning.”

Lady Haigh sat down upon the parapet and burst into stifled but irrepressible laughter, which failed, however, to disconcert Fitz.

“My dear boy,” she gasped, while he looked at her resolutely and without a smile, “it is quite untrue to say that the age of chivalry—of the wildest knight-errantry—is gone. Can you really think it possible that we should allow Miss Keeling to go wandering off like Una, with you as a protector instead of the lion? Why, it is fully three days’ journey to the frontier from here, and there are enemies all the way.”

“I would take care of her, really. I would die before any harm should happen to her.”

“I haven’t a doubt of that, but you forget that when you were once dead, the situation would be rather serious for Miss Keeling. And how do you imagine that Major North would receive your proposal?” and Lady Haigh collapsed again helplessly.

“But, Lady Haigh,” said Georgia, quickly, afraid that Fitz’s feelings might be hurt, “Mr Anstruther might take the treaty with him, if he is going to ride to Fort Rahmat-Ullah. Mr Stratford told us this morning that Abd-ur-Rahim and the rest think he is already on the way there with it, and it would be splendid to get it into a place of safety.”

“Come, that is worth thinking about!” said Lady Haigh. But, after a moment’s consideration, she shook her head decidedly. “No, Georgie, it won’t do. Sir Dugald would never have trusted any one so young with the treaty, and I am sure Mr Stratford won’t.”

“Oh, really now, Lady Haigh,” said Fitz, much wounded, “I have my compass, and I can find my way about as well as most people. There’s my horse as fresh as he can be, and I would simply ride night and day until I got to the Fort.”

“Or until your horse dropped dead in the desert, and left you stranded with the treaty,” said Lady Haigh. “No, Mr Anstruther, you are not at all the man for such an enterprise. It needs prudence and caution even more than reckless riding and dare-devil bravery. Georgie,” she turned to her impatiently, “don’t you see what I mean? There is only one person here to whom the treaty could be intrusted with any hope of saving it and us, and that is Major North.”

“Dick!” gasped Georgia, catching at the lattice to steady herself. “Oh no, Lady Haigh, you can’t mean that! Why should Dick go?”

“Because he is the only man who could possibly carry the thing through; and he is a soldier, and it is his duty,” responded Lady Haigh, tersely.

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Keeling,” said Fitz, with an aggressive indifference to Lady Haigh’s line of argument. “North is not going to take my job away from me, and ride off upon my gee—not if I know it!”

“Here are Mr Stratford and Major North,” said Lady Haigh, as, conducted by Rahah, they emerged from the lattice, and explained that Abd-ur-Rahim and his subordinates had only just departed, finding their prisoners oppressed with unconquerable fatigue. The moment they were left alone, Rahah had delivered her message, and they waited only to place Kustendjian on guard in case of the return of Abd-ur-Rahim, and followed her guidance. Georgia watched them helplessly as they congratulated Fitz on his safety, and examined the rope, and peered down into the gulf below. She remained leaning against the pillar, unable to quit its friendly support, even when the murmur of low voices told her that Lady Haigh was repeating her former suggestion.

“I call it beastly unfair, the way I am done out of everything!” she heard Fitz grumble at last. “When you had that jolly row in the Mission courtyard round the flagstaff, I had to stay in and guard the house, and that other time when I wanted to go to the Palace you wouldn’t let me. And now you mean to keep me here, while North uses my horse and my way out of this place, though I’m the only one of you that didn’t manage to get shut up here.”

“And you managed that by desertion and disobedience to orders,” said Stratford, impatiently, for he had succeeded by this time in extracting from Ismail Bakhsh the particulars of Fitz’s mysterious disappearance. “Try not to be more of a fool than you can help, young Anstruther. We can’t risk the honour of the country and the fate of the Mission on the hope that you may chance to act sensibly for once.”

“I say that it is my right to go, Mr Stratford,” returned Fitz, doggedly; but Dick broke through the group, and came to Georgia.

“Shall I go, Georgie?”

“Oh, Dick, must I decide for you?”

“You have a right to do it, I think. At any rate, right or no right, I am not going if you ask me not to. I put myself in your hands, Georgie, and the treaty and everything else may slide if you tell me to stay here. What good would it all be to me if—if anything happened to you while I was gone?”

He spoke hoarsely, his words tumbling over one another, and Georgia felt that the hands which clasped hers were hot and shaking. She looked at him in amazement which was almost terror. Was it possible that in some ways she was stronger than he was—that he was confessedly looking to her for the strength which should enable him to tear himself away from her?

“It is an awfully risky thing, Miss Keeling,” said Stratford, interposing with an honest determination to let Georgia know the worst before she made her decision. “He takes his life in his hand if he goes. I am sure no one could wonder at your keeping him back. In fact, under the circumstances, I should think it quite probable that no one would expect him to leave you here and ride off to Rahmat-Ullah to save the treaty.”

“If I were not here,” said Georgia, “would you think it right for him to go?”

“Well, things would be different then, you see—and really this is such an important business——”

“Why?”

“We are tolerably safe, I suppose, in any case; but to get back without the treaty would be rather a bad blow for our prestige, of course. All the old troubles would begin again, and England would become a laughing-stock——”

“I see,” said Georgia. “Dick, you must go.”

“All right,” said Dick, gruffly, restored to composure by the decision with which she spoke; “but why?”

“For England’s sake—for honour’s sake,” she replied. Dick looked at her in some alarm. Had the greatness of the crisis, which for the moment had unmanned himself, turned her brain, or could she really find comfort in fine language at such a time? He did not know the sustaining power which is contained for a woman in a phrase of the kind. It gives her something to lean upon, as she repeats it to herself with a determination to be worthy of it.

“You are sure you don’t mind, Georgie?” he asked in his blundering way.

“Oh no; I am not likely to mind, am I?” she said, with a sudden fierceness in her voice. “Do you want to break my heart, Dick?”

A sob broke from her lips, but she choked it down as he put his arm round her, and he only felt her hands fondling his rough coat-sleeve. “If you do that, I can’t go,” he muttered.

“Then I won’t,” said Georgia, with an effort; but she held his arm tightly as he returned to the rest.

“We may as well get things settled,” he said. “Where is this horse of yours, Anstruther?”

Fitz explained the position of the ruined hut in which he had left his horse tied up, while Stratford tested the rope.

“I say,” he said, “we must add some more to this. It won’t take you half-way down, and you will want something to hold on to while you are feeling for a foothold. You had better have the end fastened round you, for though the moon isn’t bad, you might easily slip, since you have not seen the cliff by daylight. I will hunt up Ismail Bakhsh, as he has charge of the baggage-ropes, and it might be a good thing if he was to lend you a turban and cloak. They would pass muster at a distance, but it is hopeless to think of disguising you satisfactorily if you meet any one at close quarters, for there are no hillmen about here. You will want food and water, too.”

He hurried away, returning with Ismail Bakhsh just as Georgia was fishing the treaty out of its place of concealment. It was none the worse for its immersion, and she wrapped it in another cover and sewed it into Dick’s coat.

“It was an excellent idea, that hiding-place,” said Stratford, as she and Dick rejoined the rest. “I couldn’t imagine what in the world you had done with the thing, unless you had tied a string to it and hung it out of the window. Look here, North, you had better not take your sword. It will only make a clatter, and won’t do you much good. Take the dagger the mutineers bequeathed to you instead; it is nearly long enough for a sword.”

“Take care of this for me then, Georgie,” said Dick, unbuckling the sword he had just fastened on, and Georgia received the charge with gratitude, for she knew that Dick’s sword was his most cherished possession. The work of lengthening the rope was going on rapidly, the provisions for the three days’ ride, a little bread and dried fruit, a little corn for the horse, and a scanty supply of water, were fastened round Dick’s waist for the descent of the cliff, and the turban and the mantle were arranged by Ismail Bakhsh. All was ready. Dick shook hands with the rest, and turned to Georgia as she stood white and tearless beside the parapet.

“Georgie, if you tell me not to go, I’ll stay now,” he whispered, as he saw her face.

“No, Dick, go—for honour’s sake”—and she repeated mechanically the words which had been burning themselves into her brain during the last half-hour—

Go, dear,” she said again, and took his face between her hands and kissed him on the forehead.

“It’s women like you that make men heroes in spite of themselves,” broke out Dick. “Oh, Georgie, I was a brute to you this morning—about that cat of yours. Say you forgive me.”

“Dick!” she almost laughed. “As though I could remember such a thing as that now! Good-bye, my dearest, and God go with you.”

“God keep you, my darling!” He held her in his arms for a moment longer, then released her with a last kiss. “Take care of her,” he said to the rest, as he stepped up on the parapet, and let himself down by the rope. They lowered him carefully to the ledge, and from thence, with the rope still round his waist, he made his way down the precarious path to the foot of the cliff. Presently the strain on the rope ceased. Those above drew it up, and listening intently, fancied they could hear the sound of a horse’s hoofs as it was led cautiously over the fallen rocks into the open plain, but the shadows were too confusing to allow them to distinguish anything by the sense of sight. They listened anxiously for any alarm from the walls which might indicate that some sentry had been more successful, but none came, and they returned slowly to their several quarters, Fitz taking possession of the room which had been assigned to Dick. As for Georgia, she kissed the sword-hilt on which her lover’s fingers had so often rested, and allowed her tears to have free course, now that he was no longer at hand for his heart to be troubled by them.

Very early the next morning, before any of Abd-ur-Rahim’s dependants were about, Stratford, Fitz, and Ismail Bakhsh might have been seen hard at work by the light of a smoky lamp. They were taking the long rope to pieces, or, in other words, restoring its component parts to their original form as box cords, and returning them to the places where they might reasonably be expected to be found under ordinary circumstances. When Rahah had been intrusted with the fragments out of which Lady Haigh and Georgia had formed their first rope, and Ismail Bakhsh had carried away the rest to put them back with the luggage of which he had charge, the prisoners breathed more freely, and Stratford took advantage of the momentary pause to arrange plans for the day.

“Look here, Anstruther—we must keep it dark as long as possible that North is gone and that you are here in his place. It strikes me that the fellows who were looking for you yesterday all went too far afield, and that’s how they missed you. To-day they will argue that they had better look at home first, and they will set to work to search the ruins down below, and the rocks near the spot where we halted, and any caves there may be in the neighbourhood. I don’t know what sort of trackers they are here, but if they are anything like so good as the natives in India, they will find out in no time that the ruins were occupied until last night, and that a man on horseback left them and took a certain course. They may even be able to discover our way up and down the cliff by means of your footprints and North’s. Still, it will all take a certain amount of time, and every hour of delay is so much gain for North. On the other hand, if they don’t happen to light upon his trail, and we keep you well out of sight, they may waste the whole day in an exhaustive search of the desert just round here, which would be nuts for us. You must pretend to be seedy, and stay in your room. If you don’t show up, perhaps they won’t find out the state of affairs for a day or two.”

“Beastly dull for me!” grumbled Fitz; but he yielded to the inevitable, and returned to his room, resolved to make up for the fatigues of the night by a few hours’ additional sleep. Indeed, the whole party slept late that morning, and when Abd-ur-Rahim came in to inquire after the health of his prisoners, he found only Stratford prepared to receive him. This was fortunate, in that it postponed the danger of discovery, and Stratford gladly accepted the old man’s offer of a ride round the city in his company, as tending still further to avert suspicion. By one means or another, the whole of the day was tided over successfully, and the spirits of the captives began to rise. The next day, however, a new difficulty confronted them, in the shape of a deputation from the mutinous cavalry escort, who had found their way to Bir-ul-Malik, and demanded an interview with their hero Dick. In vain were they assured that he could not and would not see them. They expressed their readiness to await his convenience for any length of time; and Stratford guessed that, fearing they had made their native land too hot to hold them, they entertained the design of crossing the frontier under Dick’s leadership, taking their women and children with them, and transferring their allegiance to Her Most Gracious Majesty, as a preliminary to enlisting in the Khemistan Horse. It was a distinct relief to Stratford, when he considered the spirit in which Dick would probably have received this precious offer of service, to remember that he was not in the place; but it was a very embarrassing thing to have these men continually waiting and watching for an opportunity of seeing him. They were not interfered with in any way by Abd-ur-Rahim and his men—a fact which confirmed Stratford’s conviction that it had been arranged with them beforehand by Fath-ud-Din’s emissaries that they were to mutiny and desert when they did, and that their indignation respecting the misappropriated bakhshish was only part of a deep-laid plot.

For some two or three hours the deputation sat waiting patiently outside the quarters allotted to the prisoners, while ambassadors went to them at intervals to represent the uselessness of their remaining, and to advise them to withdraw. Then fortune favoured them, and they stole a march on Stratford. He had gone into the inner rooms to speak to the ladies, while Kustendjian was busy in his own quarters, and the deputation grasped their opportunity, and, after surprising and binding the man on guard at the door, walked in. Dick’s bearer was the only person who saw them enter, and he seized the moment, while they were admiring Stratford’s toilet arrangements, in the first room they reached, to rush to his master’s quarters and throw a sheet over Fitz, who was lying on the bedstead, very hot and discontented, in his shirt and trousers. There was just time for him to turn his face to the wall and for the man to arrange the sheet over his head in the manner of the natives when they sleep, before the deputation entered. A murmur of delight broke from them when they saw the shrouded figure, and they sat down in a semicircle on the floor, to wait until their desired leader should awake, all with their eyes fixed on the sheet, beneath which Fitz lay writhing in agonies of laughter. In vain did the bearer attempt to dislodge them by threats of his master’s anger when he awoke, in vain prophesy that their presence would do him harm; they simply reiterated their determination to see the General Dīk. At last, between laughter and the sheet, Fitz could bear no more; and, almost suffocated with heat, he threw out an arm and pushed the covering partially aside. A murmur of astonishment showed him at once that he had done more than he intended.

“But the General Dīk has light hair, and this man’s is black!” were the words he heard, and the leader of the party added authoritatively—“That is not the arm of the General Dīk!”

“The General Dīk!” exclaimed the bearer, trying to improve matters—“nay, this is the chota sahib. Think ye that the Major Sahib would have suffered you to enter his quarters, ye sons of swine?”

“But the little gentleman was lost!” was the cry, as Fitz threw off the sheet and sat up. “Where, then, is the General Dīk? Let us even seek Abd-ur-Rahim and ask him of the matter, for surely they have murdered our Lord Dīk!”

In an incredibly short space of time Abd-ur-Rahim had been informed of the miracle that had occurred, and was on the spot, only to become more and more mystified in the course of his inquiries. That Dick was gone and Fitz had taken his place was evident, but when or how the exchange had been effected was a mystery. None of the prisoners would offer any explanation. “That is for you to find out,” was their answer to all questions, and Abd-ur-Rahim and his officers beat their brains in vain. Means, motive, and opportunity for the change alike appeared wanting, and the puzzled Ethiopians took refuge at last in the hypothesis put forward by one of their number—

“It is the magic of the doctor lady! She has changed one into the other to lead us astray and to baffle our search for the youth.”

CHAPTER XXI.
FOR A CONSIDERATION.

“I can’t go on wasting time like this,” said Georgia to herself the next morning as she stood on the terrace, drawn thither by the fascination of the distant view of Bir-ul-Malikat. “Two whole days have slipped away already, and I have not got a step nearer to discovering the antidote, nor even to communicating with Khadija. What am I to do? When those women and children came to ask for medicine yesterday, I thought it was a hopeful sign, and I suppose that if I stayed here long enough my fame might spread even as far as Bir-ul-Malikat; but what good is that when Abd-ur-Rahim won’t hear of our setting foot outside the walls? It was bad enough before, when I knew Dick would be angry if I hinted at going over to pay Khadija a visit, but I think I might have talked him round. I only wish the dear boy was here now to be angry, instead of being taken out of the way just when I had been thinking so unkindly about him. But I don’t see how Abd-ur-Rahim is to be worked upon, unless any of his own wives or children should happen to fall ill, and even then I am afraid I shouldn’t be able to persuade him to let me leave the town, if only for an hour or two. I wonder whether Rahah and I could concoct a letter to Khadija, and whether we could get it taken to her if we did? I should think we ought to be able to pique her curiosity, or perhaps her covetousness, supposing that she could read the letter when she got it. Let me see, what could we say?”

She knelt down with her arms on the parapet, and was revolving in her mind honied sentences which might cover an even more tempting meaning, and thus appeal to the witch’s cupidity, when her attention was attracted by a moving object between her and Bir-ul-Malikat. Now that the search for Dick had once more quitted the immediate neighbourhood of the fortress, the solitude of the desert was so seldom disturbed by any traveller that Georgia watched the approaching speck with interest. As it came nearer she saw that it was a man mounted on a donkey, but when it passed out of sight round the slope of the hill she thought no more about it. Presently, however, Rahah came in hot haste to seek her mistress.

“There is a messenger from Bir-ul-Malikat waiting outside the door, O my lady, and he will not give his message to me. Is he to be allowed to speak to you?”

“Oh, of course. Some one must be ill,” said Georgia, and she returned indoors and donned her burka. The man whom she had seen riding across the desert was standing in the outer hall at a suitable distance from the doorway of the passage which led into the harem, and the door was open to allow of conversation. The visitor was respectably dressed, and had the appearance of a steward or other responsible servant, but his first words were not calculated to recommend his mission, at any rate as Rahah translated them.

“O doctor lady, Khadija, the mother of Yakub, sends thee greetings, and desires thee to visit her at Bir-ul-Malikat.”

“Why?” asked Georgia. “Is she ill?”

“I know not,” answered the man, doggedly.

“Then why does she send for me?”

“That is her business. It is not for any man to dispute the will of Khadija.”

Georgia pondered the matter for a moment. Her first impulse was to accept the invitation which had arrived thus opportunely, but its tone was so unpleasant that she began to suspect a trap. If her presence was really needed, Khadija could well afford to send her a more explicit message. It was evident that the matter was not one of life and death, or more would have been made of it, and Georgia had a lively recollection of the way in which she had been lured to the Palace at Kubbet-ul-Haj, to warn her against putting faith in mysterious messages. In any case, nothing could be lost, and the respect in which she was held would probably increase, if she declined to pay any attention to a summons worded as this one had been.

“I go nowhere unless the messenger tells me plainly why I am wanted,” she said, sharply.

“That is not a reply to satisfy Khadija,” returned the messenger.

“Then she must find satisfaction elsewhere,” said Georgia.

“Her power is greater than the doctor lady knows.”

“Thou art a fool,” said Rahah, contemptuously, her wrath aroused by the veiled threat. “My lady also has medicines. Is she likely to fear Khadija?” and she dropped the curtain as a sign that the interview was at an end.

The messenger departed baffled, but it was not without many misgivings that Georgia heard his retreating footsteps crossing the tiled floor. Had she acted foolishly in refusing so peremptorily the witch’s request? It was possible that the terms in which it was couched had been adopted merely in order to try her, and that she had lost once for all the opportunity of gaining an entrance to Bir-ul-Malikat. The thought troubled her a good deal, in spite of the persistence with which she assured herself that it was only prudent to act as she had done, and she wandered in and out of the various rooms, unable to settle to any occupation, pausing now and then on the terrace to look across the desert in case the messenger should be returning. Engrossed in watching for him, she failed to notice the approach of another traveller, and it was with some surprise that she received the news which Rahah hurried out to bring her.

“O my lady, another messenger! He says that he is Yakub, the son of Khadija, but he will not say why he is come.”

Once more Georgia assumed her burka and went to interview the visitor. He was a young man, somewhat foppishly dressed, and evidently a dandy in his way, his appearance producing in Georgia’s mind the impression that his mother had spoilt him as a boy, and now lavished upon him all the money she had to spare. He came forward with a slight swagger, and salaamed in rather a perfunctory way.

“O doctor lady, thy handmaid Khadija, my mother, sends thee greetings, and entreats thee to visit her at Bir-ul-Malikat.”

“Why?” asked Georgia, with a directness which he seemed to find embarrassing, for he fidgeted with his girdle as he replied—

“Nay, O doctor lady, is it strange that my mother, having heard of thy fame, should be anxious to see thee?”

“But why does she not come here? Is she ill?”

“No; thanks be to God!” was the answer.

“Then is there any one ill in her house?”

“That is not for me to tell the doctor lady.”

“Then neither is it for the doctor lady to go there,” and Georgia was about to retire into the harem again when he sprang forward.

“Let not the doctor lady turn away the light of her countenance from her servant. There is one ill in the house.”

“But who is ill, and what is the matter with him or her?”

“I cannot tell. I have given my message.”

“You must tell me if I am to come.”

“But it is not in my power, O doctor lady! My mother has told me no more than that, and I know only that it is one of the women.”

“In that case, my friend, you had better return to Bir-ul-Malikat at once, and find out the age of the patient and her symptoms. Then I will either give you medicine for her, or I will ask leave from Abd-ur-Rahim to go and see her. It is absurd to come to me in this way. I should have no idea what to take with me.”

“But it cannot be, O doctor lady. My mother will tell me no more than I have told thee.”

“She must tell me more, if she wishes me to go and see her. You must make her understand that unless she is perfectly open with me she need not expect me to come. She can send me a letter if she likes, but I must have some idea what is the matter.” And Georgia retired into the interior of the harem, feeling that she was acting with a prudence such as Stratford himself could not have exceeded. That caution was necessary in this case she could not doubt. The repetition of the message, and the persistent mystery in which it was enwrapped, had raised strong suspicions in her mind that there was no sick person at all in the case, and that the request was merely a bait to lure her into the power of the sorceress—a trick which she did not intend should succeed a second time. Her desire was to be able to dictate terms to Khadija, not to be obliged to sue for her own release, and she awaited the further development of the situation with much interest and some anxiety. To pass away the time, she occupied herself in putting her medicine-chest in order, setting Rahah to work to polish her surgical instruments, a task in which the girl took a keen delight, and even before the business was finished to her satisfaction, another visitor was announced. As before, Rahah went out to see who it was, and returned in a high state of excitement.

“O my lady, it is Khadija the sorceress herself! Surely she has heard of my lady’s power, and comes to prove it.”

Georgia’s heart beat a good deal faster than before, as she walked slowly down the long room, refusing resolutely to quicken her steps, but she succeeded in keeping her anxiety from betraying itself in her voice as she gave her visitor the usual greeting. The sorceress, a small shrunken old woman, with white hair and piercing dark eyes, looked at her sharply before making her hurried reply.

“And upon thee be peace, O doctor lady! Will my lady be pleased to accompany her handmaid back to Bir-ul-Malikat, where one of the household is grievously sick?”

“I must hear more about the matter before I come,” said Georgia, turning and leading the way through the passage back into the harem. “Sit down and rest, O Khadija, and tell me who is ill,” and as she spoke she seated herself upon the divan opposite the visitor, while Rahah took her stand beside her to interpret what was said.

“Nay,” said Khadija; “surely the doctor lady, who is so wise, needs not to be told anything? She knows all things by her own wisdom.”

This was a direct challenge, and Georgia saw that it would be necessary to administer a lesson to her visitor. She drew herself up and fixed her eyes sternly on Khadija.

“You are right, O Khadija. I know many things without hearing of them from you, and before we talk again of your matters I will ask you certain questions, and according as you deal truly with me in answering them or not, so will I decide whether I will grant your request.”

Khadija looked up in evident surprise, not unmixed with apprehension, and Georgia went on, speaking in a low voice, but very slowly and distinctly—

“You are learned in poisons, Khadija. Tell me, then, what was the drug that Fath-ud-Din used to poison the Queen of England’s Envoy—that drug which you gave him?”

“God forbid!” cried Khadija, raising her skinny hands in indignant protest. “Does the doctor lady think that her handmaid is as one of the evil women in the corners of the bazaars, who sell poisons to wives tired of their husbands? Far be it from me to deal with deadly drugs to such an end!”

“I have other questions to ask, Khadija, but I shall speak with you no more unless you answer this one. Also it would be well for you to answer it truly, for I know the answer.”

“If the doctor lady knows, why should she ask me?” grumbled the old woman; but the response was prompt—

“That I may see whether you are dealing truly with me or not, O Khadija.”

“It might have been the juice of a plant?” was the tentative suggestion. “Yea, doubtless it was the juice of a plant,” with the air of one who had just remembered a forgotten fact.

“It might have been, but it was not.”

“It might have been some metal, or a deadly fruit, or the venom of a serpent?” the last with a cunning side-look at Georgia.

“No, it was none of those; but we are coming to the point. Hasten, O Khadija; my patience will not last for ever.”

“Could it have been the essence distilled from the dried body of—some beast?”

Georgia rose from her seat and turned away, but the old woman threw herself before her and clutched her dress.

“O my lady, was it the poison of a deadly fish?”

“Ah! now we are getting at the truth,” said Georgia, turning, but refusing to sit down again. “It was a fish, then; but how was the poison administered?”

“Surely the doctor lady knows all things. It would be vain if one should try to deceive her. There was but one small drop of the medicine, and it was to be given in a cup of coffee.”

“And it was carried for safety in the jewel of a ring, which was to be dropped into the coffee. Is it not so, Khadija? But we will speak of the Father of sleep again presently. Tell me now who it is that is ill in your house, and what the sickness is.”

As they resumed their seats on the divan, Khadija gave a lingering look into Georgia’s eyes, trying to discover whether she was possessed of information upon this point also, but finding herself baffled, leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.

“O doctor lady, I will not deceive thee. It is my master’s daughter—my Rose of the World, my child Zeynab.”

“And what is the matter with her?”

“O my lady, I will hide nothing from thee. The maiden is light of foot and venturesome as the wild goats. Some days ago—it may have been four or five—she was climbing upon the walls of the garden with the slave-girls, and she declared to them that she could go further than any of them along the wall where it was broken. Thy handmaid called to her with many rebukes to come down, but she was headstrong and went on, and presently a part of the wall fell with her to the ground. Nor was that all, for a great stone lay upon her foot and crushed it, and nothing that I have done will cure it.”

“What have you tried?” asked Georgia—and the old woman gave a list of various native remedies she had administered, all of them sounding equally inadequate to a European listener, and the greater number either painful or disgusting.

“And now, O my lady, the foot is swollen to the size of twice my head, and it has turned black, and the maiden sobs and moans day and night.”

“That sounds as though the bones were crushed,” said Georgia. “I may have to take off the foot.”

“Never, O doctor lady! Better that the child should die, though she is the light of my eyes, and Fath-ud-Din will slay me if any ill befalls her. Rather than lose her foot she must die, for who will marry a woman with only one foot?”

“I will have a look at it, and see what I can do,” said Georgia. “It may be possible to remove the shattered bones without amputation. But you must understand that if I come I take the responsibility and the authority in the case. If it is only possible to save the girl’s life by amputating her foot, it will have to be done. You must leave me to settle it with Fath-ud-Din, and I will take the blame.”

“Nay!” cried Khadija, with still more energy. “Fath-ud-Din must know nothing of this, whether the maiden recover or not. O doctor lady, she is all that I have, saving my son Yakub, and when I have seen her married to the King’s son Antar Khan I can die happy; but Fath-ud-Din would take her at once from my keeping if he heard what had happened to her, or knew that I had brought in an English doctor-woman to see her. Thou wilt not tell him, O doctor lady? I know that the English speak the truth. Fath-ud-Din hates them; but if they have the skill to save his daughter, it is well to make use of it without his knowledge.”

It is sad to be obliged to confess the humiliating truth, but it was this speech that decided Georgia to embark upon a course so unprofessional that, if it had become known in England, it would have been the duty of her medical confrères to drive her with ignominy from their midst. She made up her mind deliberately to haggle for her fee before she visited the patient.

“Why was it that you gave Fath-ud-Din the poison with which to injure the Envoy?” she asked, suddenly. Khadija looked astonished at the unexpected change of subject.

“Nay, O my lady, is it not the duty of a servant to do her master’s will?”

“You are not in the position of an ordinary servant to Fath-ud-Din—you are more of an adviser and helper. Why did you make it easy for him to poison a man who had done you no wrong?”

“I hate the English,” responded the old woman, sullenly. “They came and burnt my village because our men had raided into Khemistan, and my husband and my elder son were killed.”

“And now you are obliged to rely upon an Englishwoman to help you to avoid the wrath of Fath-ud-Din? Hear me, Khadija—I will come to Bir-ul-Malikat and do my utmost to cure Zeynab, but only on one condition.”

“And that is, O doctor lady——?”

“That you give me the antidote for the poison you call the Father of sleep, and tell me how to apply it. If I find you have deceived me, Fath-ud-Din shall know everything; but if the Envoy recovers, all will be well.”

“O my lady, she will poison you as soon as you have cured the girl,” put in Rahah, in a frightened whisper.

“I think not,” said Georgia. “Tell her that before I leave this house I shall write out an account of the circumstances, to be sent immediately to Fath-ud-Din in case anything should happen to me.”

Khadija received the information with a grunt. “And what will the doctor lady do in return for the antidote?” she asked.

“I will go with her to Bir-ul-Malikat,” replied Georgia, “and do all I can to save the girl’s foot. Whether I find that amputation is necessary or not, I will remain in the house until the patient is fairly on the way to recovery, that she may have the best possible chance.”

The old woman nodded her head meditatively. “Thou wilt cure my Zeynab, and I will give thee the antidote. That is fair. Thou wilt come at once, O doctor lady?”

“I must make a few arrangements first. You are prepared to give my maid and me a room to ourselves, I suppose, as we shall be obliged to remain over the night? It may be necessary for us to spend four or five days with you.”

“Oh yes; the doctor lady shall be lodged in the best part of the harem, in the rooms of my Zeynab’s mother—may she rest in peace!—and the women of the household shall see to her comfort.”

“That is well,” said Georgia, as she left the room and went to seek Lady Haigh. Rahah followed her.

“It is not safe, O my lady. She will kill you if she can, and there will be many opportunities if you are staying in her house.”

“We must try to take adequate precautions, and baffle her, Rahah. In any case, the possibility of success is worth the risk.”

Nevertheless, as Georgia knocked softly at the door of the sick-room, the thought crossed her mind: “At any rate, I will make sure before I go that I shall be allowed to try my remedy if I succeed in bringing it back. It is a risk, undoubtedly, to go, and I shall hear a good deal about it from Dick if I ever return, so that I won’t enter on it as a mere speculation.”

“What is it, Georgie?” asked Lady Haigh, coming out. “Is anything fresh the matter?” for the repressed excitement in Georgia’s manner caught her attention at once.

Instead of answering immediately, Georgia drew her to the window and threw open the lattice, so that the light fell full on the faces of both.

“Have you confidence in me, Lady Haigh?—as a doctor, I mean?”

“Every confidence, Georgie. I would sooner have you to attend me if I was ill than any male doctor I know. But why do you ask? Oh, my dear, don’t—don’t tell me that it is anything about Dugald! He doesn’t seem quite so strong here, I know; but it is only the change of air. Don’t say that he is really worse!”

“No, that is not what I wanted to say, though it has to do with Sir Dugald. Just before we left Kubbet-ul-Haj, Lady Haigh, I found out the name of the poison Fath-ud-Din used against him. Now I have the chance of obtaining the antidote; but that involves my going to Bir-ul-Malikat, and perhaps remaining there for several days, attending Fath-ud-Din’s daughter. If I can cure her, I am to have the remedy given to me. What I want to know is, if I obtain the antidote, will you let me use it for Sir Dugald?”

“But you must not go, Georgie! I can’t let you run into danger, and what you propose would be fearfully dangerous.”

“That is not the question, Lady Haigh; and the danger is my affair. You can’t prevent my going, except by assuring me that you won’t let me try the antidote.”

“Oh, Georgie, how can you be so unkind?” And Lady Haigh fairly broke down. “He is getting worse, I know it; and he will slip away without ever recognising me or speaking to me again. I ought to prevent your going, I know; but I can’t. Oh, what will Major North say to me? No, Georgie, don’t go! We have had our share of happiness, Dugald and I; and how can I dare to risk your future and Major North’s? Oh, why did you ask me, and make me pronounce my husband’s death-sentence? No, don’t mind what I say; I am nearly mad with trouble. You are not to go.”

“Nevertheless, I am going,” said Georgia, her face very pale. “My only condition is that you are to use the antidote, if I can get it sent to you, whatever happens to me. You are quite right—I ought not to have asked you. It was only that it struck me suddenly that you might listen to Dick and Mr Stratford again, and it would all be no use. You promise me that you will try the antidote, if I can get it?”

“Nothing can be worse than his state now,” sobbed Lady Haigh. “Yes, I will use it, Georgie. How could I do otherwise, when you are risking your life to obtain it for him? You believe in it, I can see that.”

“I do, and I hope that before long you will have good cause to believe in it too. Now I must tell Mr Stratford of my intended mission. I shall say nothing about the antidote, but I won’t get into trouble again by going off without leave.”

Stratford was busied, with Fitz and Kustendjian, in compiling the official chronicle of the events of the last few days, and it did not strike him that there was any special danger in Georgia’s going to visit a patient who had asked for her attendance. He knew nothing of the evil fame of Khadija, and thought that if Abd-ur-Rahim could be brought to give his consent, the ride to Bir-ul-Malikat would be a pleasant change for Georgia after her imprisonment within the four walls of the harem.

“One of us might go over with the escort and fetch you back,” he suggested, “if you could fix any special time.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Georgia, with a guilty feeling of concealment, “for I don’t know how long I shall be. If it is necessary to perform an operation, I shall probably be detained some time. Could you spare Mr Anstruther to help me get my things together, and to see that the horses are properly saddled?”

Fitz jumped up from the divan with great alacrity, and when Georgia had him alone she confided her plan to him, explaining the importance of her going to Bir-ul-Malikat at this juncture, and the probability that her stay there might extend over several days. His first impulse was naturally to declare that he would go too, and to reproach her with unkindness and lack of confidence in him when she refused his escort somewhat decidedly. But Georgia had her answer ready.

“I don’t want you at Bir-ul-Malikat, Mr Anstruther, because I think you would be more useful here. I want to arrange a code of signals which will show whether all is going well or not. Do you know anything of heliography? I have a small mirror in my dressing-case, and, if you have another, we could each signal night and morning how things were going, for I ought to know if Sir Dugald gets worse. I suppose one flash would mean ‘All right!’ and two ‘Send help!’”

“Oh, we can do better than that,” said Fitz, whose face had brightened perceptibly when he found that he might be of use even though he was not allowed to act as Georgia’s escort. “I will jot down the Morse code for you, Miss Keeling, and then we can hold conversations. Long and short flashes will represent dashes and dots, you see, and none of the natives will be able to imitate our signals, though they might easily twig what one flash meant, and signal ‘All right!’ when it was all wrong. You didn’t know I studied telegraphy a little before I came out, did you? One never knows when things may prove useful, and I chummed up with a clerk in the Whitcliffe post-office, and got him to put me up to the dodges.”

Leaving Fitz occupied in writing out the code, Georgia next made a raid on the stores under the care of Ismail Bakhsh. She felt it to be a matter of the greatest importance that Rahah and she should take their own provisions with them, since to depend on Khadija’s liberality would be merely a gratuitous invitation to her to poison them both, and with this danger in her mind she secured a sufficient quantity of meat extract and other portable articles of food to last for three or four days. Ismail Bakhsh demurred persistently to parting with the stores in his charge, except in obedience to an officially signed order, yielding only under protest; while, when he discovered, from some chance words let drop by Rahah, the real object of the journey, he could scarcely be restrained from going at once to Stratford and begging him to prevent it. Rahah overwhelmed him with shrill reproaches, for, little as she approved of the expedition herself, she was determined not to allow any man living to thwart her mistress’s wishes; but it was Georgia herself who forced him to give an unwilling acquiescence to the plan. Her plea that she was going to secure a medicine that might cure the Burra Sahib he dismissed with contempt, remarking that the Burra Sahib’s illness did not concern her—a slight to her profession which aroused all the ire of which Georgia was capable. Looking straight at him, she spoke sternly—

“Am I to ask your leave to go where I will, Ismail Bakhsh—you who have eaten my father’s salt? I am going to Bir-ul-Malikat, and I forbid you to interfere. You take too much upon yourself.”

Ismail Bakhsh saluted in dumb amazement as Rahah translated the words with much gusto.

“Truly Sinjāj Kīlin himself speaks in his daughter!” he murmured submissively, as Georgia increased by another tin the pile which Rahah was carrying, and left the room without vouchsafing him another glance. He watched the two women out of sight, and after securing the door of the store-room, went off to his quarters, revolving many things in his mind.

Georgia’s preparations were now almost complete. Rahah had added several native loaves and a quantity of flour to her stock of provisions, together with a saucepan and a new water-jar, and Fitz brought Georgia the paper on which he had written out the Morse code, and reminded her that it was possible, by means of two mirrors placed at right angles to each other, to obtain a flash when the sun might seem to be too low in the heavens for signalling to be attempted with success. The only thing now left to be done, although it was a very important one, was to obtain Abd-ur-Rahim’s consent to the expedition. It occurred to Georgia that in this she might find a powerful ally in Khadija, and before sending Rahah to ask the old commandant to come and speak to her, she returned to the room in which she had left the sorceress. When Abd-ur-Rahim appeared, Rahah was walking meekly behind him, and passing into the inner room, took her place behind her mistress without a word; but it struck Georgia presently that she must have made a suggestion to him on the way.

“What does the doctor lady require?” asked Abd-ur-Rahim.

“I wish to go to Bir-ul-Malikat with Khadija, who has one sick in the house that she desires me to see,” said Georgia.

“But the doctor lady must remember that it was not even permitted to her yesterday to visit the sick in the town, outside the citadel. How, then, could her servant suffer her to cross the desert to Bir-ul-Malikat?”

“But surely you will make an exception in favour of Khadija, who is the servant of your lord Fath-ud-Din?” urged Georgia, aghast at this new possibility of failure just as success seemed to be in her grasp.

“I know not,” replied Abd-ur-Rahim, cautiously. “Who is it that is sick?”

“Make no inquiry into matters that concern thee not, O Abd-ur-Rahim,” put in Khadija, with more than the usual touch of sharpness in her tone. “It is enough for thee that one of thy lord’s household is sick, and that I desire the doctor lady to come and see her. It will not be for thy health, nor for that of thine house, for thee to put difficulties in the way of her coming.”

Abd-ur-Rahim grew visibly paler under the implied threat. “But what shall I say to my lord and to the English if any evil befalls the doctor lady?” he asked, helplessly.

“What evil should befall her?” snapped Khadija. “Am I a dog, to ill-treat the one who comes to help me?”

“Nay,” stammered Abd-ur-Rahim. “Far be it from me to hint evil concerning thee. But there are dangers in the desert, and perhaps among the servants at Bir-ul-Malikat there might be—— Nay, I cannot let the doctor lady go unless I have a surety in her place.”

“Whom dost thou seek?” demanded Khadija.

“Thy son, Yakub, that he may remain here until the doctor lady has returned in peace.”

“It is well,” returned the old woman, after a scarcely perceptible pause. “Why should I fear for my son, since I mean well to the doctor lady? Let him come, and welcome.”

“Then I will ride with thee to Bir-ul-Malikat, and receive the young man before the doctor lady arrives there,” said Abd-ur-Rahim, determined to leave no opening for the evasion of his conditions.

Khadija gave an angry snort, but to demur would have been to cast a doubt on the honesty of her own intentions, and she submitted to the inevitable. Abd-ur-Rahim departed to order the horses to be got ready, and Georgia went to say good-bye to Lady Haigh, and to give her last directions respecting the treatment of Sir Dugald. Fitz received a parting injunction to take care of Colleen Bawn, and was further honoured by having Dick’s sword committed to his keeping. Georgia would have liked to take it with her, but it was rather an unmanageable piece of luggage, and she gave it into his charge with no little reluctance.

There was still another parting to be undergone, for as the three women passed through the front portion of the house and reached the steep path which led down into the courtyard, Ismail Bakhsh came to meet them, with his hand on the shoulder of his son Ibrahim.

“O my lady,” he said to Georgia, “thy servant would entreat thy forgiveness for his words of an hour ago. It was not for him to order thy doings, but he would fain serve thee still, for thy father’s sake. He is old, and cannot now fight as he did once, but let my lady permit his son to take his place, and guard her in her journey and in her sojourn in the strange house.”

“O my lady, let him come,” whispered Rahah, and Georgia assented to the old man’s request. Ibrahim was not likely to be of much service as a guard, but he might contrive to escape with the antidote if she and Rahah were prevented from leaving when they wished.

“It is well,” said Ismail Bakhsh. “Guard well the doctor lady, O my son, for thy father ate her father’s bread for many years. Count thine own life nothing in comparison with the life of Sinjāj Kīlin’s daughter, and it shall please thy father well, whatever issue it may please God to send to this matter.”