Peace With Honour

“Now, Dick, I want to trot you out this afternoon, so please put on your smartest clothes, and your best company manners, and your most winning smile.”

“Has your majesty any more commands? I was under the impression that I was excused further duty to-day, on condition of dining out with you to-night and to-morrow night.”

“This is not duty, it is pleasure—or ought to be.”

“That sounds more inviting. Who gets the pleasure?”

“I do, if you will come, and I will promise you some as well.”

“Your generosity exceeds my highest expectations, but I should like particulars before I make any rash promises. I have just settled down here comfortably for the afternoon.”

“Dick!”—Mabel North dashed at her brother, robbed him of his cigar, and, snatching away his newspaper, set her foot upon it—“if you imagine I allow you to smoke in the conservatory merely in order that you may shirk coming out with me, you are mistaken. Now, will you come? Quick, or I shall let this thing go out!”

“I give in. Allow me to rescue that cigar. Now, perhaps, you will graciously intimate what it is you want me to do?”

“I want you to see something of the serious side of my life. What do you really know about me? You would be sorry some day if you didn’t come this afternoon. When you heard I was no more, you would shake your head and say, ‘Ah, poor girl; what a frivolous butterfly she was!’ I wish to guard against misconceptions of that kind.”

“Oh, well, I only hope your conscience will prick you when I am gone again. When you think of me at Kubbet-ul-Haj, sweltering all day and freezing all night, you will say, ‘Ah, poor fellow! I wish I had treated him better while he was here. Never a moment’s peace did I give him; it was nothing but drive and rush from morning to night.’”

“Don’t pretend to be bored and blasé, Dick. You know that you have come back from the wilderness with a very healthy appetite for innocent gaiety. If you wanted us to think that seven years on the Khemistan Frontier had made you a misanthrope, your face would belie you. I do like to see a young man enjoying himself thoroughly at a social gathering, and that pleasure I have whenever I take you out.”

“This is adding insult to injury, Mab. Can’t you let a man alone?”

“Not when he’s my brother, and I have got him all to myself after not having seen him for years. Do come with me, Dick, there’s a good boy; I want you particularly. Besides, you owe a duty to other people. Society looks favourably upon you, and it is only grateful for you to bask in its smiles. All the girls I know have said to me, ‘Mornin’. Brother’s comin’ home, isn’t he? Awf’ly plucky chap! Bring him in on our “at-home” day. Just adore soldiers.’ Then their mothers come up purringly, and say, ‘And so your dear brother is coming home, Miss North? You must be sure and bring him round to see me. I am so much interested in young men. And will he wear his Victoria Cross? It is the dream of my life to see one.’”

“I hope you don’t expect me to take the precious thing with me in my pocket and exhibit it? There are some things a man can’t bring himself to do, even for your sake, Queen Mab.”

“No, dear boy; I won’t try you so far. I am not a despotic monarch. That means that you are going to be good and come with me, doesn’t it? Then I will reward you by saying that I don’t want you to go to an ‘at-home’ or anything of that kind this afternoon, but merely to the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

“Yes, the Women’s Hospital, to which I go twice a-week to read and sing to the patients. It is a great occasion there to-day—the anniversary of the opening, so that I can take you in, and the poor things are all longing to see you.”

“Why, what do they know about me?”

“What I have told them, of course. Do you know, Dick, I sometimes feel as though I had no business to be so well and rich and happy among so many sufferers. It seems as though they must hate me, or, at any rate, feel that I can’t sympathise with them. And then, when you were shut up in Fort Rahmat-Ullah, and uncle and I were so fearfully anxious, I really couldn’t go on just as usual, and I told the women about you, and they were so nice. Of their own accord they asked the clergyman, who comes and holds a service in the wards on Sundays, to mention your name in the prayers, and they watched the papers for every scrap of news about you. When at last we heard how you had got through the enemy and brought help, I took the paper to the hospital, but I couldn’t read a bit. I simply broke down and cried like a great baby, and the women were in a dreadful state of anxiety. At last I gave the account to one of them, and she read it aloud in a high, cracked voice, making the most horrible hash of the names, and the rest all cried too. They have regarded you as their personal property ever since, and when they heard of all your honours, they were as much pleased as I was. ‘Your brother ’ave gort permoted, miss!’ was what they all called out to me when I came in one day, and I never had such a piece of work in my life as when I tried to explain to them what brevet rank was. I’m afraid even now they are under the impression that you have been very badly treated, and defrauded of the promotion you ought to have received, and they sympathise with you very deeply. Several of them have pictures of you, cut out of the illustrated papers, folded up in their lockers, and bring them out to show people, and all the new patients are carefully instructed in the history of the presiding genius. ‘That’s our Miss North’s brother,’ the old ones tell them, and then all the details follow. Now, Dick, you will come, won’t you?”

“If you really want me, old girl,” and Dick threw down his paper without a murmur. “I feel as if I owed you something for the horrible scare you got when you heard we were cut off, and so I’ll do violence to my natural modesty to the extent of coming and exhibiting myself to your old women.”

Mabel North was not a little proud of her brother as she conducted him into the hospital an hour or so later. He looked such a splendid manly fellow, she thought, with the glamour of his past exploits surrounding him like an aureole, that she wondered how other women could care to display their wretched dandified relatives beside him. In the fulness of her satisfaction, she marched him through various rooms and corridors, and presented him to a number of resplendent ladies who appeared to be receiving the guests, before there was any question of going up-stairs to visit the wards. Then she was seized upon by a suave person of business-like appearance, who turned out to be the secretary, for a few minutes’ confidential talk, and Dick, rather bewildered by his experiences, and wondering why a hospital should employ a lady as secretary, took refuge in the society of a man he had met at his club.

“Isn’t this gathering slightly—er—informal?” he asked. “Don’t the doctors, or governors, or whatever they call the authorities of the place, show up at all? All the men here look as though they had been brought by their lady friends.”

“Brought?” said the other man, “that’s it exactly. My wife brought me, your sister brought you, and Mountchesnay and the Archdeacon have been brought by their female relatives in just the same way. We are here on sufferance, don’t you know, just to open our minds and enlarge our views.”

“Is it a ladies’ day, then?”

“No, but the ladies boss the show here. Don’t you know that this is the hospital of the future, manned entirely by women? The tyrant man is in his rightful sphere here, quite at a discount. They think nothing of him. Why, there’s not a man on the premises but the porter, and he is there rather to overawe the relations of the patients than to help the ladies. But do you mean to say that Miss North brought you here without explaining the state of things? It wasn’t fair; she might have given you a shock.”

“But who are the burra mems—the great ladies—in the other room?”

“The doctors, ladies of European reputation. The one who shook hands with you first fought the whole battle for the medical women.”

“I didn’t know that you were mixed up with all this kind of thing, Mab,” said Dick, as Mabel, having finished her talk with the secretary, turned to look for him.

“All what kind of thing?”

“Why, all this rot about lady doctors, and women’s hospitals, and so on.”

“Then you don’t read my letters, Dick. I have told you about it again and again. But I have another surprise for you presently. Let us come up-stairs now.”

In the wards Dick made a very good impression. None of the patients would be satisfied without a close view of him, and Mabel conducted him from bed to bed, and introduced him to all her friends. When he had duly admired the decorations, congratulated the patients on their healthful looks, promised to send in some illustrated papers, and inquired whether he could possibly obtain admittance to the hospital himself if he fell ill, he was in high favour. This inquiry was the stereotyped jest, which was expected as a matter of course from all the male visitors to the hospital, and none of them ever failed to make it, so that its utterance was received with approving laughter.

“Ah, you gentlemen don’t know what a blessin’ this ’ere ’orspital is to us, a-makin’ your jokes, and all,” said an old woman, with a high cracked voice, the patient, as Mabel explained, who had read aloud to the rest the account of Dick’s solitary expedition for the relief of Fort Rahmat-Ullah. “Not but what I ain’t been as well treated as I ’ad reason to expeck. My doctor’s agoin’ out to furrin parts, to the pore ’eathens, she says. ‘You may as well stay and see the last of me, miss,’ I says to ’er; but she says, ‘You can go to a gentleman doctor when you are ill, Mrs Wake, but them pore ’eathen women can’t, so I’m wanted there wuss.’ Oh, there you are, miss! I was a-tellin’ this gentleman about you.”

Mabel looked up quickly as a lady in soft flowing robes of wine-red cashmere glanced in at the begarlanded doorway, and nodded to Mrs Wake.

“We shall meet to-morrow evening, Mab,” she said, seeing the visitors.

“Wait a minute, Dr Georgie,” said Mabel, hastily; “I want to introduce my brother afresh. I am afraid he is forgetting old friends. Major North, Miss Georgia Keeling, M.D.”

“Miss Keeling! Is it possible?” Dick met the gaze of a pair of frank dark eyes, which were scanning his face with a look of friendly interest, and his thoughts flew back to the time which had elapsed between his leaving Sandhurst and obtaining his appointment to the Indian Staff Corps years ago. He had spent some months at home, to the great disgust of his uncle, the general, who vowed that this spell of idleness would ruin him for life, but he did nothing worse than fall in love with his sister’s greatest friend. Georgia lived only a few doors off, and she and Mabel always walked to the high school together, a fact of which Dick was fully aware when he took it into his head to offer Mabel his escort morning by morning. The offer was accepted with some hesitation, for both Mabel and Georgia had reached what might be called the age of pure reason, and objected on principle to “boys and nonsense,” but Dick was useful in carrying their books, and they could always snub him if he talked too much. Mabel was not without pride in the effect produced on the other girls by Dick’s attendance, but Georgia was absolutely indifferent to the honour conferred upon her, and Dick left England at last with the rueful conviction that the lady of his love was still quite heart-whole, and never regarded him in any other light than that of Mabel’s brother. Now he saw her again, and her eyes met his as calmly and freely as of old.

“Miss Keeling! Is it possible?”

“You have not forgotten the old days, then?” she said, pleasantly.

“I am afraid you haven’t,” he answered. “I must have bored you horribly. I know you and Mab always wanted to discuss your lessons, or the methods of the different masters, and momentous subjects of that kind, whereas I used to try to intrude my own little frivolous interests, which were invariably frowned down. It served me right.”

Poor Dick! He had not spoken so lightly when he bade Georgia farewell, after a vain attempt to obtain from her a flower, a glove, anything she had touched, as a keepsake. She had looked him through with her clear eyes and observed chillingly that she disliked foolishness, and he broke away from her with a heart full of pain and anger, and on his lips the Disraelian prophecy, “Some day I will make you listen to me!” To work for Georgia, to make himself more worthy of Georgia, had been his ruling impulse during his early years in India, and there was always before his eyes the faint possibility that when he returned home great and famous, his stubborn lady’s heart might be touched at last. And now he had returned, not only famous, but also free from the trammels of his early and hopeless adoration—and Georgia was not at all affected by the fact. Years of unremitting work had turned Dick’s thoughts into a different channel. He was a soldier now, and his professional instincts were paramount, but still, he would have liked Georgia to recognise the change. She did not appear to notice anything, and he had a lurking suspicion that if she had done so, the realisation would not have troubled her.

“And so you are going to India, like all the young ladies in these days?” he said, carelessly, recalling what he had just heard from Mrs Wake, not without some idea of piquing Miss Keeling by the suggestion that her latest development had not surprised him in the least.

“No, not to India,” she answered. “I am going to Kubbet-ul-Haj.”

“What, with Sir Dugald Haigh’s Ethiopian Mission? So am I.”

“Yes, Mabel has told me. What a pity she can’t come too!”

“Oh, Mab hasn’t set up as a free-lance yet.”

“Have you, then? I had an idea that you were going as one of the Mission. Even I have a professional status.”

“I am the military member—aide-de-camp to the Chief, or something of the kind, I believe. You are the surgeon, I presume?”

“Not exactly. The King of Ethiopia’s principal wife is nearly blind, and he has begged that a lady doctor may accompany the Mission to Kubbet-ul-Haj, and attend the Queen while Sir Dugald Haigh remains there. Lady Haigh is rather glad to find a companion, and I am delighted to have such a chance.”

“The Mission is highly honoured,” said Dick, not quite pleasantly.

Miss Keeling looked at him in some surprise.

“It makes it much pleasanter that you are going too,” she said. “My short Indian experience has taught me how delightful it is to find old friends in a foreign country.”

“You are too kind,” said Dick, stiffly. “I’m afraid you overrate my powers of—er—entertainment; but, of course, I shall be delighted to do all I can to make the journey less tedious.”

She looked at him again. Was it possible that the man was such an arrant coxcomb as to imagine that she was doing her best to lead up to a resumption of the old state of affairs between them? Could he be trying to warn her off, or were his infelicitous remarks due only to ill-temper? But why should he be ill-tempered? In any case, it was clear that Major North, V.C., was a very different person from the boy who had gone to India fifteen years before, and the change was not an improvement. There was the slightest possible touch of hauteur in Georgia’s manner as she turned away, saying, with a graciousness which made Dick writhe with something of his old feeling of insignificance in her presence—

“You must not think that I have forgotten to congratulate you on your splendid exploit, Major North. I had hoped to be able to hear something about it from yourself, but no doubt Mabel will tell me all I want to know.”

She passed slowly down the corridor, and Dick, watching the trailing folds of her gown out of sight, felt a sudden and unreasoning rush of anger. He tried to think that he was angry with her, but in his heart he knew that it was with himself. As for Mabel, who had watched the scene at first with amusement, but afterwards with growing concern, she was speechless until she had conducted him hastily through the remaining wards of the hospital, and hurried him out at the front entrance. Then she turned upon him and said in a tone of concentrated disgust—

“Well, Dick, I never thought I should have to be absolutely ashamed of you!”

As Dick made no reply, but walked on with frowning brows, swinging his stick viciously, she continued to improve the occasion.

“Talk of the fury of a woman scorned! it’s nothing to a man’s. If you can’t forgive Georgia for refusing you fifteen years ago, one would scarcely expect to find you eager to show her that she never did a wiser thing in her life.”

“I believe you imagine that I am in love with her still,” said Dick, with great calmness.

“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” retorted Mabel.

“Then you are mistaken. I don’t care a rap for her. What upset me was that she ignored everything so completely. It was all foolishness, of course, but still it did happen, and nothing can blot it out. A man can’t meet a woman that he has cared for in that way as though he had never seen her before. Only women can do that kind of thing.”

“A woman would know better than to behave like a cad, at any rate.”

“I should never let a man say such a thing as that to me, Mabel.”

“Then it is a good thing that there is a woman to do it. The fact is, Dick, you hoped that Georgia would have changed her mind during these years, and that she would want you when she could not have you. That is a nice, manly, chivalrous way of trying to get your revenge on her, isn’t it? And when she is willing to forget all that foolishness, and to meet you as an old friend, you are angry, instead of being thankful that she can bring herself to overlook it. You really were fearfully silly in those days, Dick, and bothered her horribly. Why can’t you let it drop, if she can? You say you don’t care for her now. Why you should expect her to care for you, I don’t know.”

“I don’t expect her to care for me,” said Dick, doggedly.

“I should hope not, when you are so fickle.”

“I don’t know why you should call me fickle. A man’s tastes must change as he grows older.”

“Exactly. But why should you expect Georgia to change in accordance with them? She is just what you might have guessed she would be.”

“I detest that type of woman.”

“I see. You would have liked Georgia to develop entirely on your lines. When you find that she has a character and a will of her own, you don’t like it.”

“I like a woman to be a woman. These lady doctors are not womanly.”

“Indeed! Who is the best judge of what is womanly, you or a woman?”

“Of course,” Dick went on, disregarding the question, “it is their business, and not mine. But you will find, Mab, that men like a woman to be gentle and soft and clinging, looking to them for protection.”

“Men!” said Mabel, contemptuously. “Who cares what men like?”

“Well, a good many women seem to think rather a lot of it. No one wants a woman to be brave and self-reliant. Now Miss Keeling’s manner—it implied that she could look after herself, and had no need of a protector—and yet she was not putting on side—it was simply a steady sort of self-dependence. That’s all very well, but it isn’t what I like in a woman. And she looked me over, just as a man might. It made me feel quite queer.”

“Yes, you like a woman’s eyes to drop before yours, as a sort of unconscious tribute to your greatness and your glory. A man may look at a woman with the calmest insolence, but she must only steal a glance at his face when he isn’t looking. I’m afraid India has corrupted you, Dick.”

“What in the world has India got to do with it? Your remarks don’t seem to apply to any part of India with which I am acquainted.”

“Very well, I withdraw them, then. I will only say that before you went there you preferred to regard woman as an angel high above you; now you object to think of her even as an equal.”

“I knew we were bound to come round to that at last. Every man makes an idiot of himself some time in his life, but it’s not fair to bring up his ravings against him when he has returned to his right mind. And why should you drag in these stale controversies? The women will always settle the matter to their own satisfaction among themselves, and the men will laugh over it in the smoking-room and say: ‘It pleases them to think so, and as long as they do no harm they may as well be let alone.’”

“There you are again, Dick, with your nasty cynical philosophy! I am sure frontier life has not been good for you. You want educating, and I rather think that Georgia is the person to undertake the task, if you haven’t disgusted her too deeply. For your own sake, my dear boy, I should advise you to try and appease her. It is not every man of whom she is willing to make a friend.”

“Stuff!” said Dick, ungratefully. “When I want friends I prefer men. You forget that it’s a case of ‘once bit, twice shy,’ with me.”

“Oh, very well; don’t blame me if you turn out a horrid old bear, always saying nasty things about women, because you don’t know a scrap about them. You will soon see that Georgia has no difficulty in finding friends. She might have married hundreds of times.”

“This seems to import a new element into the discussion. Why are these hundreds of presumably unhappy men introduced? Is it to show the danger of seeking Miss Keeling’s friendship? I have already had experience in that direction, you know.”

“It was merely a piece of historical retrospect—and a warning for you. Don’t say that I let you go to Kubbet-ul-Haj blindfold. The man who would suit Georgia must be at the head of some big hospital, so that she can see plenty of good operations,” and Mabel smiled gleefully at the disgust depicted on her brother’s face.

CHAPTER II.
A COMMUNITY OF INTERESTS.

About noon the next day Dick North left his uncle’s house with the intention of going to his club. It was a rough windy morning, with occasional scuds of rain, and when one of these overtook Dick as he was crossing the street, he found to his disgust that from the force of habit he had come out without an umbrella. Taking refuge in a doorway, for the shower proved to be a sharp one, he discovered that his asylum was already in the possession of a lady, in whom he quickly recognised Miss Keeling. She was looking very smart in a business-like ulster and a neat little felt hat, from the brim of which the rain-drops were falling on her wind-blown hair, for the umbrella she held in her hand—a mere mass of metal spikes and shreds of silk—could only be called an umbrella by courtesy, and had evidently given way before the force of the gale.

“Any port in a storm!” she said, merrily, as she shook hands with Dick.

“I am sorry I can’t offer to lend you an umbrella,” he remarked, “for I am worse off than yourself.”

“No, I think you are more sensible,” she replied, “for an umbrella is sure to be turned inside out in this wind. You see I am prepared for rain, and I have no fear of getting wet, but I do dislike it when the rain-drops trickle down my neck.”

“Pray allow me to run across and get you an umbrella from one of those shops over there,” he said stiffly, annoyed to find his resentment against her melting under the influence of her friendly manner.

“Oh no, thank you, I couldn’t think of it,” she replied, surveying him carefully, and taking due note of his curly-brimmed hat, his long coat, the huge carnation in his buttonhole, and the immaculate spats protecting his equally spotless boots. “You are not quite dressed for running anywhere, are you?”

The resentment returned promptly in full force.

“I am sorry my appearance is displeasing to you,” he said, in a tone which he tried vainly to make a light and sportive one.

“Oh, but it isn’t at all. It is most correct—unimpeachably correct.”

“Then what is the matter with it, if I may ask?”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Thank you, I think my feelings are proof against injury.”

“It is only that I was thinking it was a pity to expose such a complete get-up to the dangers of a muddy walk. A hansom would have taken you straight from General North’s door to your destination. I could imagine you a walking advertisement of the Army and Navy Club, and why aren’t you gracing one of the windows there, as a sort of sample, you know, to show the kind of goods within?”

“Bother the girl! She sees I don’t like her, and she is taking it out of me,” was his mental comment, as he glanced at her composed face and caught a twinkle of fun in her eyes. Aloud he said, rather lamely, “You don’t know what a luxury it is to be able to array oneself in the garments of civilisation once more, after spending years, as one might say, in uniform. But I see the rain has stopped. May I call you a cab, or walk with you?”

“Oh no, thanks; I am only going to one of those shops.”

“But you will allow me to see you across the street?”

This time his escort was not refused, and he left her at the entrance of the shop to which she was bound, and in which, as he noticed with a shudder, the wares displayed were chiefly surgical instruments. As he lifted his hat and turned away, he found his state of mind not at all in accordance with the serene calm of his destination. Everything Miss Keeling had said seemed to be rankling in his breast, and he anathematised her mentally as he walked. What business had the girl to say such things? Nay, rather, what did it signify if she did say them? Why in the world should it affect him? And yet, here he was wasting his time and spoiling his short leave at home by thinking about her. It was bad enough that they were doomed to be fellow-travellers all the way to Kubbet-ul-Haj, but at least he would dismiss her from his mind while he was in England; and by way of making a beginning he would burn that photograph which he had cherished so long.

The consciousness of this heroic resolution upheld him during the day, and when he returned home to dress for dinner his first action was to take the photograph out of the drawer of his desk in which it had been wont to repose ever since he had stolen it out of Mabel’s album. He held it in his hand with mingled feelings, remembering the time when he had lifted it out and looked at it reverentially every night, although of late years it had remained altogether undisturbed. Georgia appeared in it with short hair, which made her look like a very nice boy. Dick remembered that Mabel had come home from school one day in tears because, in the ardour of preparing for the London Matriculation, Georgia had had all her hair cut off. He remembered also how he had begged, as urgently as he dared, for one of the severed locks, and how Georgia had refused it with disdain. In those days he was under the impression that it was rather pleasant than otherwise to be called “silly boy!” by Miss Keeling’s lips. What a young idiot he must have been! And what a senseless fool he was now, to be recalling the absurdities of those past years in this way! After all, he would not burn the photograph, lest he should forget what an ass he had once succeeded in making of himself. It should occupy its old place still, not for Miss Keeling’s sake, but for auld lang syne, and as a memento and a warning.

“Are you nearly ready, Dick?” said Mabel’s voice at his door. “The carriage has come round.”

Hastily thrusting the photograph back into the desk, Dick made his toilet at lightning speed and hurried down-stairs. Mabel was waiting in the drawing-room with an aggressive expression of resignation, and General North, whose gout kept him at home, was fretting and fuming over the tardiness of his nephew’s appearance.

“This is the way in which you young fellows make ducks and drakes of all your chances!” he remarked, irascibly. “Here you are appointed to this Mission, which is a piece of luck for which most men would give their ears, and you are late the first time you have to meet your chief. In my young days such behaviour would have lost you your post, but there’s nothing that can be called discipline now.”

“And how much happier the world is!” said Mabel, flippantly, stooping to arrange General North’s footstool more comfortably. “Now take care of yourself, uncle, and don’t think of waiting up for us. Come, Dick, we must really go.”

“I say,” said Dick, as he followed her into the carriage, “I wish you would just cram me up a bit about this affair to-night. I know that we are to dine with the Egertons, and that the Kubbet-ul-Haj people will be there, but who the Egertons are, or why they should be mixed up with the Mission, I haven’t an idea.”

“Dick, if I had such a bad memory as you, I would—study somebody’s system of mnemonics, I think. I have mentioned the Egertons in my letters again and again. Don’t you remember that I pointed out Mrs Egerton to you at the hospital yesterday—a pretty, rather worn-looking woman, with a black lace dress and pink roses in her bonnet?”

“I apologise humbly for my forgetfulness. Forgive me, and instruct me.”

“Well, don’t you remember that just after you first went out, I told you that Cecil Anstruther, one of our girls at the South Central, had taken high honours in the London B.A., and we were all so proud of her? She went out to Baghdad as governess to the Pasha’s little boy, when Sir Dugald Haigh was Resident there. The Haighs were very kind to her, and she became engaged to Lady Haigh’s cousin, who was surgeon at the Residency. He got into trouble in some way with the Turkish Government, and had to be sent home, and I believe they were separated for a long time. But they were married at last, and came home and settled down. Dr Egerton has a large property in Homeshire, and sits in Parliament for the eastern division.”

“What, the member for Adullam?” cried Dick.

“Yes, that’s what they call him, because he is said to be always in a minority of one. You know how the name was fixed upon him? Of course he was often called by it in private conversation, but one day Sir James Morrell, who is rather absent-minded, had to answer one of his questions in the absence of the Secretary for India, and in his flurry he alluded to ‘the honourable member for the Adullam division of Homeshire.’ The next week ‘Punch’ improved it into ‘the member for the Cave division of Adullamshire,’ and since then it has stuck. What do you know about Dr Egerton, Dick?”

“Merely that he is one of the faddists who pose as authorities on India and the East generally.”

“Ah, you should hear Sir Dugald Haigh on that point. His sneer is positively terrific. He can only comfort himself by remembering that here, as in other cases, the critics of the East are the men who have failed in the East.”

“Better that than never to have been there at all,” said Dick. “It has struck me more than once that there is a good deal of sense in some of Egerton’s crotchets, but he destroys the effect by his way of forcing them upon people. The things he says would put any one’s back up.”

“Yes, poor Cecil’s life is spent in explaining away his blunders and apologising for them. He could do nothing without her, for she is such a favourite that she can often manage to put things right when he has muddled them. Every one wonders that she doesn’t coach him beforehand, and teach him to avoid these dreadful faux pas; but I know that she does, and that he forgets all her advice as soon as he gets excited in debate.”

“But how is it that these people are mixed up with the Kubbet-ul-Haj affair?”

“They are great friends of the Haighs, of course, and besides, Cecil’s brother is going out as the junior member of the Mission. He is a most absurd boy—always going wild about something or other—and just now he is deeply in love with Rosaline Hervey, the beautiful girl in the picture hat who was with Mrs Egerton yesterday. She is to be there to-night, and her sister, and old Mr and Mrs Anstruther, Mrs Egerton’s parents, who are anxious to see what Sir Dugald is like before confiding their boy to his care. Then there is Mr Stratford, a cousin of Dr Egerton’s and second in command of the Mission.”

“Yes, I know Stratford. We met in Kashmir one year, when he was taking his leave in India, and I saw him the other day at the Foreign Office. He is a good sort of chap.”

“You come next in rank, I suppose, and then there is the doctor.”

“Ladies first, please—or what doctor do you mean?”

“Dr Headlam, of course, the surgeon of the Mission.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I was afraid you meant Miss Keeling.”

“Oh no,” said Mabel, but her face wore a peculiar smile as she gathered her cloak around her preparatory to leaving the carriage. The reason for her unusual taciturnity became evident to Dick a little later, when he found that he was expected to take Miss Keeling in to dinner.

“You are old friends, I think,” said Mrs Egerton, pleasantly, and Dick perceived by her tone that she imagined she had done him a kindness in arranging her guests in this way. It was clear that she remembered the old days, even if Miss Keeling had forgotten them. But no, doubtless Mabel had given her the hint.

If Dick had only known it, Georgia was in a much softer mood to-night, for all day long her conscience had been pricking her for her share in the conversation of the morning. She was indignant with herself for the things she had said, and it did not render them more excusable in her estimation that pique at Dick’s attitude towards her was not by any means the sole motive that had actuated her in uttering them. What in the world did it signify to her if the hero of the Khemistan Frontier chose to make himself look absurd in clothes which the idlest stay-at-home of a club-lounger could wear with far more pleasure to the beholder and satisfaction to himself? If the poor man thought that he looked well in them, why not leave him to enjoy his delusion, instead of rudely shattering his dream, and letting him know that his appearance, in the opinion of one person who knew him, verged on the ridiculous? Miss Keeling felt uncomfortably conscious that, after all, pique had had something to do with, at any rate, the terms of her remonstrance. She had even been led into vying with her opponent in cool rudeness, and for this she could not forgive herself. It was no excuse for her that she found most men so easy to get on with, when once they had laid aside the mock deference or the real antipathy with which they were wont to greet the lady doctor on their first introduction to her. She could not help knowing, for admiring female friends kept her informed of the fact, that it was the mingled graciousness and dignity of her manner which converted these adversaries and scoffers into firm allies and champions, and yet she had so far forgotten herself and her sense of what was becoming as to chaff Major North on his appearance, just as any ordinary fast girl might have done, and the fact humiliated her. A younger or less experienced woman, feeling as she did, would have precipitated matters by an apology, but Georgia was too wise to introduce any further complication into her difficulties. There could be no advantage in putting herself into North’s power in such a way, when it was undeniable that he had invited a snubbing by his perplexing conduct the day before. No, if he was to be won back to friendliness it must be by letting bygones be bygones, and accepting the situation as it presented itself.

Dinner was considerably delayed, owing to the fact that the Miss Herveys were late, and Georgia had some time in which to try her skill upon Dick. Her task was more difficult than she had anticipated, for he manifested an abiding resentment which irritated her as being quite out of proportion to the circumstances which had called it forth, and he answered her only in frigid monosyllables. Georgia talked on bravely, resolved not to appear to notice his lack of responsiveness, although she could not but feel slightly aggrieved by her failure to soften him. When Sir Dugald Haigh crossed the room to speak to Dick, and, with an apology to Georgia, carried him off to be introduced to Lady Haigh, she heaved a little sigh.

“He was such a nice boy!” she said to herself, “and I think he would be nice now, if he would only let his better side show. I like his face so much.” She glanced across the room at him, and marked appreciatively the thin brown face, on which the fair moustache looked almost white, the firm chin, the keen grey eyes, and the brow set in the habitual frown produced by the constant watching of distant objects under a burning sun. “He looks like a ‘man and a leader of men,’” she went on slowly, “but why should he behave in this way? It is so small, so petty, to keep up a grudge for so many years, and how could I have done anything but refuse him? It would have been absurd to do anything else, even if I had cared for him, and he was such a boy. He must be at least two years older than I am, but I always felt then that he was years younger. At any rate, he ought to be grateful to me, instead of sulking like this.”

At this moment a diversion was created by the entrance of the beautiful Miss Hervey, a vision of loveliness in rose-coloured silk; while behind her came her sister, a smaller, plainer, and, so to speak more shadowy, edition of herself. Mabel gave Georgia a look which implied that the young lady was by no means averse to making herself the observed of all observers in this fashion, but if such was the case, her triumph was short, for every one resented the delay which had been caused by her non-appearance. The host marched up Dr Headlam and presented him to Miss Hervey, to the intense disgust of Fitz Anstruther, Mrs Egerton’s brother, who found himself put off with the younger sister instead of the lady he adored, and a move was made into the dining-room.

Dick North’s temper seemed to have improved in some measure since his conversation with Lady Haigh, and Georgia smiled inwardly over the change, gathering that a few kind things said by his chief’s wife would go far to soothe the ruffled susceptibilities of even so sensitive an individual, but she was not long in discovering that he had by no means forgiven herself. True, he was willing to talk, but with great persistence and considerable skill he kept the conversation directed to the ordinary trifles which form the staple subjects at most London dinner-tables. He might never have been further from Pall Mall than to Paris in his life, thought Georgia, with increasing irritation, while he was favouring her with his views on the Eton and Harrow match, and the iniquity of the vestries in taking up the principal thoroughfares in the height of the season. To add to her resentment, she saw, or believed she saw, that he was perfectly well aware of her eagerness to hear about his life in India and Khemistan, and that he was rejoicing in her unavailing disgust. Miss Hervey, his left-hand neighbour, claimed his attention at last, and Georgia found an attraction of greater power in the talk of Sir Dugald Haigh, a small, neutral-tinted man, with grey hair, grey eyes, grey moustache, and a greyish-brown skin, who was telling Mrs Egerton of various changes which had taken place in Baghdad, whence he had lately returned, since the days of her residence there.

“I was not sorry to wash my hands of the place,” he said. “Very likely I belong to an old, worn-out school, and my ways are too rough and ready for the kid-glove methods of to-day. Our rule was always to ask only for what we meant to have, but never to recede from a demand once made. ‘Hold on like grim death,’ was our motto, and we followed it out. The method had this advantage, that every one knew we meant what we said. It’s a great thing not to be afraid of bringing on war if it’s necessary, but you are too squeamish for that nowadays.”

“Why, Sir Dugald,” said Mrs Egerton, laughing, “any one hearing you would think you were a perfect firebrand, and ferociously bloodthirsty, but I remember that when I was at Baghdad there was nothing you dreaded so much as the slightest complication. I believe you would have done anything, short of hauling down the flag, to avert a disturbance.”

“Don’t believe her, Miss Keeling,” said Sir Dugald. “Behind my back she will be telling you that I am a regular Jingo.”

“And besides,” said Mrs Egerton, “why you should talk as though you were a failure, I don’t know. You are trying to make Miss Keeling think that you have been ordered to Kubbet-ul-Haj as a punishment.”

“Not quite,” said Sir Dugald, his eyebrows twitching a little.

“No, indeed, when you know that you are looking forward confidently to a K.C.B. or a peerage when you come home.”

“No, Mrs Egerton, I must draw the line there. I confidently expect nothing but to be disowned by the Government and denounced by the papers. We are told by a high authority that the inhabitants of these islands are mostly fools, as you know. That is my consolation.”

“Sir Dugald considers all mankind fools, Georgie,” remarked Mrs Egerton. “If they don’t agree with him, that stamps them at once, naturally; and if they do adopt his views, he feels sure that they must be fools to be so easily taken in.”

“You would not have ventured to say that in my presence at Baghdad,” said Sir Dugald, mournfully. “Miss Keeling, let me warn you in time. Don’t be tempted to presume upon my forbearance by the liberties this lady takes in her own house. I assure you that at Kubbet-ul-Haj you will find me a terrible martinet.”

“Oh, Sir Dugald, you are going to Ethiopia, aren’t you?” asked a new voice, that of the younger Miss Hervey, who had tired at length of her vain attempts to propitiate her sister’s sulky and disappointed lover.

“I believe so,” answered Sir Dugald, looking at his questioner in some surprise.

“Oh yes,” with a little gasp. “I thought I had heard Mr Anstruther say so, but he doesn’t seem to know very much about it. Where is Ethiopia, please?”

“Opinions differ on that point,” returned Sir Dugald, not unconscious of the listeners round the table, who were laughing inwardly at the temerity of the girl who thought she could get the Chief to talk “shop” to her. “Herodotus says it is in Africa, but Sir John Mandeville declares that he heard of it in Asia. We are going to see which is true.”

“Oh!” with a blank stare of surprise. “But why don’t you know?”

“I was not aware that I had said I did not know. The information is within the reach of any one possessed of an ordinary school atlas.”

“Oh, Sir Dugald, you say such funny things! But why are you going?”

“Because I am sent,” returned Sir Dugald, shortly, for he wished to return to his conversation with his hostess and Georgia. But the snub failed of its effect.

“Oh yes, of course. But what are you going to do there?”

With a sigh Sir Dugald resigned himself to answer the demands of this persistent young lady, and pushing his plate from him, arranged a plan with dessert forks and spoons.

“This space represents Ethiopia,” he said, “and this biscuit will show you roughly the position of Kubbet-ul-Haj, the capital. The country has been touched by European commerce only on its borders, but it contains vast grain-producing districts and enormous mineral wealth, which only needs being worked. Hence it offers a wide field for the employment of capital, as well as a practically untouched market for manufactured goods. For these reasons, and also on account of its situation, the great European powers all take a friendly interest in it, more especially Scythia and Neustria. Neustrian influence approaches it very closely on one side, and the Scythian sphere on another, but its eastern boundary is conterminous with our Khemistan Frontier, about which Major North or Miss Keeling could tell you a good deal more than I can. Unauthorised, or, at any rate, unrecognised and semi-private expeditions from all three countries have tried to reach Kubbet-ul-Haj, but have failed, and the King has always refused to receive a diplomatic mission, the object of which would be, of course, to conclude a commercial treaty. We have always contended that we had the best right to open up Ethiopia to European trade, and of course our being actually on the frontier gives us a start in the race. But just lately we gained a new advantage, for Rustam Khan, the King’s eldest son, who had been sent to put down a rising among the tribes near our frontier, fell in with one of our surveying parties, and took a great fancy to the officers. The errand on which he had been sent was a kind of honourable banishment, for it seems that he and the Grand Vizier are always at daggers drawn, and that the King sympathises with the Vizier, but when he was summoned back to Court he must have managed to gain his father’s ear again, for friendly overtures were made by the King to the Khemistan authorities for the settlement of some trifling boundary dispute. Unofficial journeys were made to Kubbet-ul-Haj by two or three of our frontier officers, and the last brought back word that the King would be willing to receive a mission and to enter into an alliance. Negotiations have since taken place, and preliminaries been arranged, and our business now is to conclude the treaty embodying the various provisions which have practically been agreed to on both sides—in the rough, of course. And I really must apologise,” said Sir Dugald in conclusion, “for the way in which I have been boring every one, but it is Miss Hervey’s commendable desire for information that is to blame.”

“I didn’t know that you were acquainted with the Khemistan Frontier,” said Dick to Georgia, under cover of the buzz of conversation which succeeded to the enforced silence.

“Although my father lived and died there?” asked Georgia, with a little resentment in her tone.

“What a fool I am! To think that I should have forgotten, even for a moment, that General Keeling was your father! Why, it was that which originally drew me to the Warden of the Marches—I mean—er—” Dick stumbled and hurried on—“well, I have worshipped him ever since I first went out. He is our patron saint out there in Khemistan, you know?”

“I know,” said Georgia. “I found it so when I was there.”

“But have you been in Khemistan? How is it that we never met?”

“It was the year you were on leave, when you went round the world with your uncle and Mabel. I visited Khemistan to see whether there was any chance of my being able to complete my father’s work.”

“How was that?”

“It was his great desire that missionaries should come and settle among the people, but the Government thought it would be dangerous, and forbade them to establish themselves permanently on the frontier. My father and I always hoped that when I went out to keep house for him, I might be able to do something, just in the way of making a beginning—but as you know, he died before I left school.”

“I know that it was while I was still in India,” said Dick. “It was reading the accounts of his life and work which first led me to make interest to get myself transferred to the Khemistan Horse, so as to be stationed on that frontier. But did you succeed in your mission?”

“No; I travelled with a missionary and his wife who were itinerating through the country, but though the people were friendly, especially when they heard who I was, they did not care to listen to us, and the Government were still so hostile to the establishment of a station, that the society to which I had offered myself would not take up the work. Then I came home and studied medicine, hoping that I might eventually do something in that way. I believe that a Zenana Mission has just been set on foot in Bab-us-Sahel, on the coast, so that perhaps I shall be able to join it when we return from Ethiopia. I only accepted the post that the Government offered me in the expedition in the hope that some good might result from the journey.”

“As regards Khemistan?” asked Dick.

“Yes. It was my father’s country, and it is mine.”

“And so it is mine!” said Dick, involuntarily.

CHAPTER III.
FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.

Dick went home that night in a highly unsettled state of mind. He was cherishing a vague and unreasonable feeling of resentment against his own absence from Khemistan during Georgia’s visit to the province. It would have been very pleasant to come upon that missionary camp during his own hurried expeditions from point to point in the unquiet district for which he was responsible; pleasant also to watch Miss Keeling in her dealings with the people, among whom her father’s name was a synonym for all that was just and honourable. Perhaps, if he had met her again at that time, before she had been spoilt by her medical training, things might have fallen out differently for both of them. He might even——

But this was a forbidden subject. What were such speculations to him? Long ago Miss Keeling had refused plainly enough to have anything to do with him, and now he had ceased to wish to have anything to do with her. He was a fool to be thinking so much about her, he told himself angrily. Desiring to divert his mind from such an unprofitable theme, he turned to Mabel, and inquired whether she had noticed his capture by Mrs Egerton’s stepmother. In the course of the evening, Mrs Anstruther, a cheerful, sprightly Irish lady, had manœuvred him into a corner, and then and there seized the opportunity of commending her boy solemnly to his care, having already intrusted the same precious charge to Lady Haigh and Georgia, Sir Dugald, Mr Stratford, and the doctor. Knowing this, Dick had tried to comfort her with the assurance that if a multiplicity of guardians could keep Fitz out of mischief, his safety ought to be secured.

“And that’s not all,” responded Mrs Anstruther, brightly, accepting the consolation at once, and looking across the room to the opposite corner, in which Miss Hervey’s fan was obviously shielding two faces, “for the dear boy is very old for his age. Sure an attachment to a good girl is one of the best safeguards a young man can have, and Fitz has that.”

As in duty bound, Dick applauded this sentiment, while venturing to suggest a doubt as to the permanency of such early attachments, especially in cases in which the lady’s age exceeded that of the gentleman by some five years; but Mrs Anstruther was rendered indignant by what she chose to consider as an implied aspersion on her son’s character, and retorted hotly that she hadn’t a doubt Fitz would come back from Kubbet-ul-Haj as deeply in love as ever, and she was thankful Lady Haigh and Miss Keeling were going to accompany the Mission. Women respected deep feelings of this kind, instead of sneering or joking about them, like men.

“And, of course you told her that your own experience had convinced you of the truth of that?” asked Mabel.

“Certainly not,” returned Dick, with dignity. “I merely said that I thought it depended a good deal on the woman.”

Mabel laughed with great enjoyment. “Guess where Georgie and I are going to-morrow morning?” she said.

“To your dressmaker’s, or to some sale.”

“Not a bit of it. We are going to a shooting-gallery, to try a little revolver-practice. Now, don’t look disgusted, because you know you would give anything to go with us. If you had behaved sensibly I would take you, but you have been so horrid to Georgie that I shan’t.”

“A nice sort of revolver Miss Keeling will get hold of, with no one to help her choose it!” said Dick, evading the question.

“She has got a beauty, which Sir Dugald chose for her, and Lady Haigh has one exactly like it,” said Mabel, triumphantly.

“But why doesn’t she wait to practise with it until we are at sea? It gives one something to do on board ship.”

“Oh, I daresay she will go on practising then, but she means to get over the first difficulties now. And besides, I want to see whether it’s really true that you can’t fire without shutting your eyes at the beginning. But, at any rate, I thought you and Mr Stratford were going to travel by the overland route, so that you will lose a good bit of the voyage?”

“That is something to be thankful for, in any case. I should say that the members of the Mission will not be exactly a happy family.”

“Well, if they aren’t, I shall know where to look for the disturbing element. By the bye, I ought not to have told you yesterday that Georgie would marry no one but the surgeon of some big hospital. I heard her say to-day that she respected a man for himself, and not for his profession, or something of that sort.”

“Highly interesting, no doubt, and creditable to Miss Keeling’s breadth of mind, but I don’t quite see what the information has to do with me.”

“Nor do I at the present moment. It is merely one of those valuable bits of knowledge which every one ought to treasure up, because they are sure to come in useful some day. How do I know that some time or other you will not thank me with tears in your eyes for just those few words?”

This was the last conversation that Mabel held with Dick on the subject of Miss Keeling before his departure, for she was a discerning young woman, and felt satisfied to leave to time the further growth and development of the seeds she had sown. Moreover, there was little further opportunity for initiating the elaborate preliminaries necessary to lead up to the discussion of a subject on which Dick was resolved not to enter; for the larger division of the Kubbet-ul-Haj party, consisting of Sir Dugald and Lady Haigh, Georgia, Dr Headlam, and Fitz Anstruther, left England in the course of the next week, while only three days later Dick and Mr Stratford started on their journey across Europe to the southern port at which they were to meet the ship.

As travelling companions the two suited one another admirably. They had the wholesome respect for each other’s powers which a month of successful big game shooting together in rough country is wont to engender, and they differed sufficiently in character to give their intercourse a spice of variety. Mr Stratford was a man after Sir Dugald Haigh’s own heart. He had risen rapidly in the Diplomatic Service, until, at the time when the idea of a Mission to Ethiopia was first mooted, he held a responsible position in the British Embassy at Czarigrad. It showed the importance attached to this Mission by the Government, that a man of his standing had been appointed to accompany it, but Sir Dugald, who had made his acquaintance in the East, had requested that he should be chosen. He was an excellent linguist, with all his chief’s powers of diplomacy, but with far more talent for society than Sir Dugald possessed, and with a capacity for self-effacement which seemed to Dick sometimes to amount almost to a double personality. His wild, open-air life among a wild people had not tended to teach Dick to conceal his thoughts, but he had succeeded well enough among his unruly frontiersmen, who felt greater respect for the long arm which could deal a distant and unexpected blow than for a tongue distilling all the wisdom of the ages.

It was when he was brought into contact with the more sophisticated townsmen, or with the weaker and craftier races of India, that Dick felt himself at a loss; and he observed, with vain intentions of emulating it, the way in which his friend would apparently give himself up altogether to the trivial business or wearisome pleasure of the hour without once forgetting the object he had in view. That he had never lost sight of his aim was proved by his sudden descent, just at the right moment, upon his opponents, who thought they had thrown him off his guard, but found that they were altogether mistaken. By his superiors at the Foreign Office, Mr Stratford was regarded as a thoroughly dependable man who was always to be trusted to tackle any particularly nasty piece of business, while by his contemporaries and subordinates he was abhorred as a fellow who seldom took his leave unless he saw the chance of employing it in some sort of work likely to bear upon his official duties, and whose proceedings disposed the authorities to expect far too much from other people. He was bound to be ambassador some day, they supposed, but he might allow those who did not aim so high to have the chance of a quiet life.

Dick was among the few men who knew the story that lay in the background of Mr Stratford’s life. On one occasion, when they were hunting together in Kashmir, Stratford was severely wounded by a bear, and Dick, while bandaging his friend’s left arm, discovered that under the signet he wore on his little finger, and almost concealed by it, was a wedding-ring. He learnt the story which attached to it somewhat later. Years ago, Mr Stratford had been engaged to the daughter of one of the foreign representatives at Eusebia, where he held a post in the British Legation, and all things seemed to combine to promise him happiness. But only three days before the time appointed for the wedding, the bride fell ill, and there was terror and panic in the city when the news crept about that her malady was the plague. She died on the day on which she was to have been married, and this was the end of Mr Stratford’s dream of bliss, of which there remained now only the unused wedding-ring. Dick could still recall the even voice in which he had told his tale as the two men sat by their camp-fire with the darkness of the forest around them. He heard only the bare facts, and he felt that these were merely told him to account for the presence of the ring. They were related without a sign of emotion, without a single expression of regret or of self-pity; but the story unveiled to Dick the tragedy which was hidden behind his friend’s prosperous life. Neither of them had ever referred again to that night’s confidences; but Dick felt grateful that the mask had once been lifted for his benefit. Henceforward, no one could allude to Stratford in his presence as a fellow without a heart, or hint that he was a diplomatist rather than a man, without his taking up the cudgels hotly for the absent one.

The journey across Europe was performed without delay or other mishap, and, after a few hours’ waiting at the port Stratford and Dick were able to board their vessel. The first member of their own party that they met was the doctor, who gave them a hearty welcome, and proceeded to pour his own woes into their sympathetic ears. The ship had met with fearful weather in the Bay, and, if he had known what a time was before him, he would have gone overland with them.

“But you must have found it all right since you passed the Rock?” said Dick.

“Oh yes, it has been endurable. The Chief and I have been cramming Ethiopian with the interpreter, Kustendjian—a very clever fellow. We shall have the start of you there. We shall be swimming along gaily in the reading-book while you two are floundering through your alphabet. To hear that Armenian chap deferentially commending Sir Dugald for his progress is a joke! He’s a thorough courtier, and wouldn’t let your humble servant get ahead of the Chief on any account.”

“It shows Sir Dugald’s pluck that he has begun a new language at all at his age,” said Stratford. “Most men would have left everything to Kustendjian, and thrown the blame on him if things went wrong.”

“Oh, we all know that you will back up the Chief on every possible occasion,” said the doctor, irreverently. “He ought to be thankful that he has such a faithful trumpeter at hand to act as his understudy in case of need. But you mark my words, if ever I have to put the Chief on the sick-list, North and I will give you a jolly time!”

“Regularly beastly!” agreed Dick. “But you seem to have been badly off for occupation if you took to studying Ethiopian. Was there absolutely nothing to do?”

“Not much, except to watch the love affair.”

“What love affair?”

“It’s the greatest joke in the world! You remember that young idiot Anstruther, how he carried on with Miss Hervey at the Egertons’ dinner-party? Well, he saw fit to be thrown out of his berth in the gale that caught us in the Bay—got his wrist sprained and his thumb crushed, or something of the sort. The surgeon on board here and I were at our wits’ end with all the ladies who knew they were dying and insisted on the doctor’s attending them at once, besides the other knocks and injuries that really needed looking after, so we were thankful when Miss Keeling volunteered her aid. She wasn’t ill, while it was as much as I could do to stagger feebly about, holding on to things, and we thought it would be an excellent thing to hand the ladies over to her care—just temporarily, of course. But the ladies, to a woman, refused to have anything to do with her, except Lady Haigh, who wasn’t ill, and we were actually obliged to give her the surgical work, for the men who had got knocked about were too anxious to be looked after to care who did it. You needn’t put on that face”—catching sight of Dick’s look of disgust—“she did it as well as I could have done it myself. But we hadn’t bargained for the effect of her ministrations on the susceptible heart of young Anstruther. He was winged at the first shot, and the next day’s dressing of his hand finished him. Since he has been able to crawl on deck, he has done nothing but follow Miss Keeling about, and when she sits down he sits down too, and looks at her.”

“Young fool,” laughed Stratford. “How lively for Miss Keeling! But what about the other girl?”

“Miss Hervey? Oh, I taxed him with her one day, and he had his answer all ready. He compared himself to Romeo, and one or two other old Johnnies of that sort, and felt that he had quite justified his conduct.”

A shout of laughter followed, in which Dick joined, notwithstanding his disgust. It was not quite clear, even to himself, why he should object so strongly to young Anstruther’s behaviour, but he recognised that he resented it very vigorously. Georgia was nothing to him, of course; but—well, a man who had gone through it all before was sorry to see another young beggar making an ass of himself. He did not know whether to be more angry with the youth for his foolishness, or with Miss Keeling for tolerating it. She did not welcome her youthful adorer’s attentions—he was obliged to confess this when he saw her treatment of him; but why should she allow them to continue when a word to Sir Dugald would have rid her of them? And the boy was really painfully absurd, whether he was taking immediate possession of any empty chair within a radius of a dozen yards from Miss Keeling, or scowling at those who did not give him a chance of getting nearer. Georgia was a favourite on board—there was no denying it. The younger men, with the conspicuous exception of Fitz, looked askance at her, certainly, and avoided her neighbourhood, muttering something about the New Woman; but the elders declared her unanimously to be the most sensible girl on board. “A woman who knows any amount, and never parades it, but is always ready to learn from other people, and doesn’t want to talk dress or scandal, is refreshing to meet,” they said, not troubling themselves to remember that they would have fought their hardest to repress in their own daughters any approach to Georgia’s particular tastes.

To his own sore discomfort of mind, Dick surprised the same inconsistency in himself. It was one of his favourite theories that women who aped men (the term was a comprehensive one, and covered a good many things, from studying art to riding a bicycle), lost by such a course of action any right to help or special courtesy from men. And yet he found himself watching jealously for any chance of moving Miss Keeling’s deck-chair for her, or fetching her a book from the library, without even waiting to be asked. It gave him a curious feeling of gratification to catch the look of pleased surprise on her face, and to receive words of thanks from her lips—to know, in short, that he had made her indebted to him, and that she liked it. Moreover, in spite of his former unhappy experience, he seized every opportunity of conversation with her, and engaged her in endless arguments on the Woman Question—a species of mental activity which Georgia hated at all times, and which was particularly distasteful to her in this case, since only the very surface of the subject could of necessity be touched.

“It is really too bad of Major North to go on teasing Miss Keeling in this way,” said Lady Haigh to Mr Stratford one evening; “and if he only knew it, it is so silly of him, too. Georgia has had plenty of practice in arguments of this kind, for every man she meets begins his acquaintance with her by trying to convert her. She has her most telling pieces of evidence all marshalled ready for use, while Major North has nothing but a few prejudices to support him. The other men all give it up, sooner or later, and decide to accept things as they are, and be thankful, and why doesn’t he?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Stratford. “Perhaps his obstinacy is stronger than theirs, or he thinks he has a right to carry matters further—as a family friend of Miss Keeling’s.”

“As if that would have any influence over her!” said Lady Haigh, scornfully. “Now, I ask you, is it likely that after going through her training as creditably as she has done, she would ever allow herself to be convinced that it had been impossible or improper for her to study medicine? And if she was convinced, do you think any woman worthy of the name would ever allow him to see it?”

“I should think it extremely improbable. But according to North himself, his intention is purely philanthropic. He told me yesterday that he considered it only charity to talk to Miss Keeling as often as he possibly could, in order to protect her from that terrible youngster.”

Lady Haigh went off into a fit of subdued laughter, which would have astonished and wounded Dick if he had known its cause, for he believed honestly in the explanation of his conduct which he had offered, quite unasked, to Stratford. If it did give him a thrill of pleasure when Miss Keeling’s dark eyes were raised to his face, in inquiry or in indignant protest, or even in mirthful contradiction, it was merely because his chivalry was receiving an incidental and wholly unlooked-for reward. He was only doing his duty in protecting a lady of his acquaintance against a youth who had shown himself disposed to take an undue advantage either of her kindness or her thoughtlessness. It did not strike him that Miss Keeling might be quite able to take care of herself under the circumstances, much less that she might prefer to do so; but Fitz Anstruther was made aware of the fact before the voyage concluded.

“At last!” he exclaimed, one evening, with a sigh of satisfaction, as he annexed the chair which Dick had just vacated. “I do believe that conceited beast North thinks you like to hear him everlastingly prosing away, Miss Keeling.”

“People are often blind to one’s real feelings in their presence,” said Georgia; but the double meaning went unperceived.

“Yes; but he might have had a little pity for me,” said Fitz, complacently, for he had an artless habit of exhibiting to the public gaze any sentiments, such as most people prefer to keep concealed in their own bosoms, that he considered did him credit. “Every one on board must know by this time that I am awfully gone on you.”

“Mr Anstruther!”

“Oh, I mean, of course, that I have admired you awfully ever since I first knew you. A fellow expects a little consideration to be shown him when he is in l—I mean—don’t you know?”

“How long have you known me, by the bye?” inquired Georgia.

“Oh, all this voyage. It’s been abominably long, don’t you think? But I don’t mean that, you know; it’s been jolly.”

“Yes; it is really a long time,” pursued Georgia, meditatively. “It is all but a fortnight, isn’t it?”

“A fortnight is as long as a year sometimes,” said Fitz. “I mean, as good,” he added, hurriedly.

“Yes; only a fortnight ago you were saying all this to Miss Hervey,” was the unexpected response.

“Oh, I say now, Miss Keeling, that’s a bit hard on a man,” cried Fitz, much wounded.

“A man?” said Georgia, inquiringly; and the youth writhed.

“Of course I was awfully gone on Miss Hervey before we started,” he said, sulkily; “but it was only because she was so pretty, and she doesn’t care for me a scrap. She told me so lots of times.”

“Is that intended as an excuse for the way in which you have been behaving lately?” asked Georgia; “because I don’t quite see the connection. Allow me to tell you, Mr Anstruther, that you have been doing your best to make both yourself and me supremely ridiculous. I can’t interfere with you if your ambition is to make every one laugh at you, though I may regret it for you own sake; but I object very strongly to your trying to render me absurd.”

“Mayn’t a—a fellow change his mind?” Fitz wished to know, in an injured tone. “If I am in love I’m not ashamed of it.”

“I hoped that your own good feeling would have led you to see by this time how foolish you have been,” said Georgia, coldly. “I could have freed myself in a moment from the annoyance you have caused me by a word to Sir Dugald”—Fitz’s face fell suddenly—“but I was sorry to lower his opinion of you at the very beginning of your work with him. Your sister is a great friend of mine, and I hoped you might be sufficiently like her not to resent advice which was offered for your good.”

“I’m awfully obliged to you for not complaining to Sir Dugald about me,” returned the culprit, with some reluctance. “I didn’t mean to behave like a cad to you, Miss Keeling, nor to make you look ridiculous. I’ll try not to bother you any more, if you really don’t like it. Only mayn’t I speak to you sometimes? It will be rather dull if I am not to say a word all the way to Kubbet-ul-Haj.”

“I am quite serious,” said Georgia, rather sharply.

“So am I, Miss Keeling, I do assure you—tremendously serious. It is a serious thing when a fellow finds himself brought up in mid-career in this way. I only want to have my orders given me. I like to be definite. We may be friends still, I hope?”

“I see that I need not have taken so much trouble to spare your feelings,” said Georgia. “If I had ever imagined, Mr Anstruther, that your conduct sprang simply from a desire to make me a laughing-stock on board, I should not have felt inclined to waste any consideration on you.”

“Oh, Miss Keeling, you are making a mistake—on my word and honour you are!” cried the youth, earnestly. “What a beast you must think me! I know I am bad enough; but it’s not quite that. I do admire you tremendously, and so I did Miss Hervey. It’s a way I have. I don’t mean any harm; but I do delight in being rotted about it by other chaps. They are all so dreadfully afraid of being suspected to be the least bit in love, that it’s a great temptation to show them how well one can go through with it.”

“Then try to conquer the temptation,” said Georgia, promptly, although she found her fan useful to conceal a smile. “You are far too young to think of being in love yet. What you call love is merely a momentary enthusiasm. Why not wax enthusiastic over some cause, for a change, or even some man—Sir Dugald, for instance?”

“I did think a lot about him at first, but he snubbed me in such a horribly cold-blooded way,” was the reply.

“Take my advice, and think all the more of him for that. You will be thankful for it yet. And perhaps you may be thankful some day for what I have said to you to-night. My lecture was not received quite in the spirit I had anticipated, but I think you must see that the form which your enthusiasms took was not calculated to do any good to any one, and might have done harm. Happily Miss Hervey and I are both a good many years older than you are, but a young girl might have thought you were sincere, and have suffered terribly when she was undeceived.”

“It is so hard to be always thinking of what might be the consequences of everything!” lamented Fitz.

“It would be harder to have to take the consequences after refusing to think of them. You will marry some day, I hope, and would you feel you were acting fairly towards your wife if you had frittered away beforehand all the affection and devotion which were her right? Keep yourself for her.”

“Thanks awfully, Miss Keeling, for saying that. No one ever spoke to me in this way before. You will let me be friends with you, won’t you? I should like you to advise me always.”

“I can promise you more advice than you will ever think is needed. In a few years,” said Georgia, with some bitterness, “you will hate the very sight of me, because of what I have said to you to-night.”

“If I was ever such a beastly cad, I hope I should be punished as I deserved!” said Fitz, fervently.

“It is only the way of the world—of men, at any rate,” returned Georgia, as lightly as she could; but when she was alone a little later, her mind recurred to the subject, and found no mirth in it.

“It is Major North’s way too,” she said to herself. “How he would have sneered if he had heard me to-night! I might be that boy’s grandmother, from the way he accepts my scoldings.”

CHAPTER IV.
AGAINST HIS WILL.

“I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I think you must belong to the British Mission to Ethiopia?”

The speaker was a hot and dusty lady, mounted on a sorry pony, who had halted in front of the hotel at Bab-us-Sahel, the port of Khemistan, in which Sir Dugald Haigh’s party were quartered. Dick North, who had been reclining in a cane chair on the verandah, with a cigar and a wonderfully printed local paper, jumped up when he heard the voice.

“I am a member of the Mission,” he answered. “Can I do anything for you? I am sorry that Sir Dugald Haigh is out, but perhaps you would prefer to wait for him? Won’t you come in out of the sun?”

“Thanks,” said the lady, dismounting nimbly before he could reach her, and giving the bridle to a youthful native groom who had accompanied her, “but I need not trouble Sir Dugald Haigh. Please tell me whether it is true that there is a lady doctor in your party?”

“Yes. Miss Keeling is her name.”

The lady uttered an exclamation of delight.

“Oh, that is just splendid! I must see her at once, please. My name is Guest; she will remember me if you tell her that Nurse Laura is here. I was a probationer at the Women’s Hospital when she was house-surgeon there, and we knew each other well. Please ask her to see me at once: it is a matter of life and death.”

Drawing forward a chair for the lady, Dick departed on his errand, and returned presently with Georgia, who had been resting in her room after a long ride in the morning. Miss Guest jumped up to meet her.

“Oh, Miss Keeling, it is such a relief to find you here! I want you to come with me at once, to see a poor woman who is most dangerously ill. I will tell you about it while you get your things together. There is not a moment to lose.”

The two ladies vanished round the corner of the verandah, and returned in a few minutes, Georgia wearing her riding-habit and carrying a professional-looking black bag.

“Would you be so kind as to tell them to put my saddle on a fresh horse for me, Major North?” she said, briskly. “I am afraid we are losing time.”

“What is it you are proposing to do?” asked Dick, after calling one of the native servants and giving him the order.

“Miss Keeling is going to ride out with me to our summer station,” explained Miss Guest, volubly. “Missionaries are not permitted to reside in Khemistan except in Bab-us-Sahel itself, you know, but the Government allows us to rent a small house in a village five miles off for the hot weather. This poor young woman is the wife of one of our native converts there, the son of the principal landowner.”

“But do you mean that Miss Keeling is to ride five miles in this heat, when she is tired already?” demanded Dick. “It is preposterous!”

“I should not think of asking her to do it if it was not so important,” said Miss Guest. “You see, I have ridden all the way in, and I am going out again with her.”

“You will be down with sunstroke to-morrow,” said Dick to Georgia. “Wait until it is a little cooler, and I will hunt up some sort of cart and drive you out.”

“We can’t afford the time,” said Georgia.

“No, indeed,” said Miss Guest; “I scarcely dared to come away myself. Happily, I was able to leave dear Miss Jenkins with the poor woman. She has such wonderful nerve! I believe she would have attempted the operation herself if only we had had the proper appliances.”

“It is a very good thing you had not,” murmured Georgia, grimly.

Dick glanced at her, hoping that she was giving way.

“Headlam will be back in another half-hour,” he said. “He has had plenty of experience, and he will be delighted to go out and see the woman.”

“Oh, but you don’t know Khemistan,” said Miss Guest, quickly. “Surely you must have forgotten that a gentleman would never be admitted into the women’s apartments.”

“I thought you said the people were Christians?” said Dick, taken aback.

“The husband is, but the wife has not been baptised, and is still in her father-in-law’s house. They are most bigoted people, and regard this as a kind of test case. Every one has been dinning into the poor young man’s ears that his wife’s illness is a judgment upon him for becoming a Christian, and his faith is beginning to waver. ‘What can these Christians and their Christ do for you?’ they ask him. He is terribly tried, and though Miss Jenkins and I have done everything we could think of for the poor girl, it was no good. Then we heard of the arrival of the Mission, and it suddenly flashed into my mind that I had seen something in a paper from home about a lady doctor who was to accompany it, and I rode over here at once, and found Miss Keeling, of all people. It was a real answer to prayer,” and Miss Guest’s voice faltered, and the tears rose in her eyes.

“Oh, when are they going to bring that horse?” said Georgia, impatiently.

“I hear it coming now,” said Dick. “But let me drive you over, Miss Keeling; it won’t be so fatiguing for you, and I am sure I can borrow a cart from some one very soon.”

“I can’t lose another minute,” said Georgia. “No, thank you, Major North, we must not wait.”

“But just tell me when you are likely to be ready, that we may send a carriage to fetch you.”

“I can’t tell. These cases vary so much. I shall probably be obliged to remain at the village all night.”

“But this is absurd! You are throwing away your health. What does this woman signify to you?”

“It is my professional duty to attend any one who summons me,” said Georgia, giving him an indignant glance; “even if there were no special reasons connected with this case.”

“It is my professional duty to attend any one who summons me,” said Georgia, giving him an indignant glance.

“Well, if you will do these ridiculous things, I can’t help it!” said Dick, angrily. “I suppose you will have your own way.”

“I think it extremely probable that I shall,” retorted Georgia. “No, thank you, I won’t trouble you—I can mount alone.”

With an intensity that would have seemed laughable to himself under any other circumstances, Dick longed that she might find the feat impracticable; but she beckoned to the groom to bring the horse to the verandah steps, and, mounting with great agility, rode away with Miss Guest, who had been staring with round eyes at the “horrid sneering officer,” as, after this day’s experience, she persisted in denominating Dick.

As for Dick himself, he shrugged his shoulders as he looked after the two ladies, and went away to Stratford’s room to relieve his mind. Stratford, who was lying on his bed reading, looked up in surprise as he entered.

“I thought I had left you comfortably established on the verandah?” he remarked.

“I was driven away by an invasion of the Amazons,” said Dick, gloomily, taking a seat on the table, where he smoked in silence for a few minutes. “If there is one kind of creature I bar and detest above all others”—he burst out suddenly—“it’s the New Woman!”

“Have you met one?” inquired Stratford, with deep interest. “I always thought it was a case of ‘much oftener prated of than seen?’”

“There’s no need to go about looking for specimens,” returned Dick. “We’ve got one with us, worse luck!”

“You have been getting the worst of it in an argument again, haven’t you?” asked Stratford, genially.

“What in the world has that to do with it? I don’t want any of your chaff. It ought to be made penal for any woman to enter any trade or profession practised by men.”

“Good gracious! would you add the attraction of forbidden fruit? Still, I don’t say that your plan isn’t worth considering. The penalty would be death, I suppose, and it might redress the inequality of the sexes a little.”

“Oh, hang it all, Stratford!” cried Dick, flinging away his cigar, “I’m serious. It makes me perfectly sick to see these women parading their independence of men, and glorying in what they know, and ought never to have learnt. It’s bad enough when they are strangers, and you don’t care a scrap about them, but when it comes to a girl you’ve known——”

“Better not go on, old man,” said Stratford. “You may say more than you mean, and be sorry for it when you are cooler.”

“I can’t help it. I know I’m safe with you. Now I put it to you: can a man be cool when he sees a girl he knew years ago—his sister’s friend—turning into one of these unsexed women, of whom the less that is said the better? One would rather see her in her grave!”

“You are a little out of sorts,” said Stratford, with imperturbable calmness, “and you are making mountains out of molehills. I won’t pretend not to know what you are driving at, but I do say that I think you are using most unwarrantable language—— Hullo! who’s there? Come in.”

This was in answer to a knock at the door, which opened immediately, and admitted Fitz Anstruther. The young fellow’s hands were clenched and his face flushed, and it was apparent to the two men that he was hard put to it to restrain an outburst of furious passion.

“I wasn’t listening,” he said, hastily, “but I couldn’t help hearing what you were saying. These beastly rooms——” He broke off suddenly, and his hearers, perceiving that the side walls only reached within some six feet of the roof, realised that their conversation must have been audible to any of their neighbours on either side who chanced to be in their rooms. “But that’s neither here nor there,” he went on. “I heard you blackguarding Miss Keeling’s name in the most shameful way, and I am not going to listen to it.”

“I was not aware that we had mentioned the name of any lady,” said Stratford. Fitz was taken aback for a moment, but recovered himself speedily.

“It wasn’t you, it was Major North,” he said, glaring at Dick. “He mentioned no names, but if he can assure me he wasn’t speaking of Miss Keeling, I’ll apologise at once. You see? I knew he could not do it. Now look here, Major North—you are my superior, and I know you can ruin me if you like, but I won’t hear Miss Keeling spoken of in that way.”

“Your hearing what you did was quite your own affair,” said Dick, coolly. He had an enormous advantage over Fitz, for the sudden attack had restored him to his usual calmness, but the boy did not flinch.

“I know, but I can’t help that. You may be sure I wouldn’t have listened to it of my own accord, but when you talked as you did, it naturally forced itself on my hearing, and a nice hearing it was! Miss Keeling has no one here to look after her, and if you are cad enough to take advantage of that, I’ll do what I can. If you dare to say that she isn’t every bit as good and as gentle as your own sister, I tell you to your face you’re a liar.”

“Anstruther!” cried Stratford, sitting up suddenly, “do you know what you are saying? For your own sake and the lady’s be quiet.”

“I can’t help it,” repeated Fitz. “Miss Keeling has been awfully kind to me, and I’m not going to hear her insulted. You can do what you like, Major North. If you want to fight, I’m ready.”

“Young idiot! who wants to fight you?” growled Dick, lounging to the door with his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t know you were going to hold a levée, Stratford. I think I’ll leave you to train the young idea for a little.”

“You haven’t answered me,” said Fitz, doggedly, barring his passage; but Stratford interposed again.

“Have the goodness to sit down on that chair, young Anstruther. I want a straight talk with you.” The boy obeyed sullenly, and Stratford went on. “As you are in my department, I suppose it falls to me to ask you, now that North is gone, whether you think you have done a very fine thing?”

“I don’t think about it at all,” was the uncompromising response, “but I know I should have been a cad not to have done it.”

“Let us just consider what it is you have done,” said Stratford. “You hear North and myself engaged in private conversation, and you thrust yourself into it uninvited.”

“If it had been private I shouldn’t have heard it,” retorted Fitz.

“Well, it was intended to be private, at any rate. Couldn’t you have gone away, or have let us know that you were listening?”

“That’s what I would have done, certainly, if it hadn’t been for what North said. I couldn’t stand that.”

“No? and you felt bound to come in and tell us so. Now, Anstruther, I am going to speak to you as a friend. When you are a little older, you will know that men of the world—gentlemen—are not in the habit of bringing the names of ladies into a discussion. If they differ in opinion on some subject of this kind, they contrive to quarrel ostensibly about something else.”

“And you would have me let Major North say the vile things he was doing about Miss Keeling for all the hotel to hear, and yet pretend to take no notice?”

“Allow me to remind you that North mentioned no names. Any listener could only at best have made a guess at the identity of the lady in question, until you came in and published her name.”

Fitz’s face was turning a dull red, and he said nothing. Stratford saw his advantage, and followed it up.

“You ought to be very thankful that there are so few people about just at this time. If the place had been full, you might have done terrible harm. It would have been quite possible to remonstrate with North on general grounds, if you felt called upon to do it, without mentioning any names or calling anybody a liar, but to march in and identify a particular lady as the one of whom these things had been said, was unpardonable. So was the way in which you did it. Of course, I don’t know what your ideas as to duty and discipline may be, but it does not seem to me your business to reprove North at all.”

“I wouldn’t have done it, except in this case,” said Fitz, eagerly. “I know he has led a rough life, and I can put up with a good deal from him, but when it comes to behaving like a cad to a lady, I had to speak.”

“And who gave you the right to make excuses for your superiors, or to bring accusations against them?” demanded Stratford, in a tone which made the youthful censor shake in his shoes. “I think you have forgotten the position North holds, and the way in which he gained it. Any man in Khemistan would laugh at you if you told him that Dick North had been rude to a lady. He is one of the most chivalrous fellows that ever breathed. You may not know that when Fort Rahmat-Ullah was relieved, and the non-combatants conducted back into safety, North gave up his horse to a Eurasian clerk’s wife who had a sick child, and walked all the way himself.”

“I can’t make it out,” said Fitz, hopelessly.

“You see that it doesn’t do to judge a man merely on the strength of a momentary impression, then? Well, I will tell you in confidence what really happened this afternoon. It was this very chivalry of North’s which got him into trouble. You know that the lady of whom mention has unfortunately been made is very independent, and I gather that she persisted in refusing all North’s offers of help in some business or other. That hurt his feelings, and he came to my room to have his growl in peace, with the result you know. I don’t say he was right, but I do say you were wrong.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Fitz. “I will apologise, Mr Stratford, if you say I ought.”

“I don’t think it is advisable to make more of the matter. I will undertake to convey your sentiments to North, if you like.”

“Thank you; and perhaps I had better apologise to Miss Keeling too?”

“No!” Stratford almost shouted. “How old do you consider yourself, Anstruther? Twenty? I shouldn’t have thought it. Your ideas are what one might expect of a boy fresh from a dame’s school. You must learn never under any circumstances to trouble a lady about any affair of the kind. I really did not expect to have to undertake infant tuition when I started on this journey. If you have made a fool of yourself, don’t go and make things worse by worrying Miss Keeling.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” murmured Fitz again. “Thank you for what you have been telling me, Mr Stratford. I wish I hadn’t said what I did to Major North, and yet I know I should do it again if I heard him talking like that, and I feel I ought to do it too.”

“Your ideas are mixed,” said Stratford. “You had better go away and think things out a little by yourself,” and Fitz departed obediently.

Georgia did not return to the hotel again that evening. Dick, appealed to by Lady Haigh as the member of the party who had last seen her, said that he believed she had gone out into the country with some lady missionary or other, and might not be back until the next day. The news drew from Sir Dugald a mild lamentation to the effect that he really thought they had done with missionaries when they left Baghdad, a remark for which he received a reproof from Lady Haigh afterwards in private.

“I wish you would not say that kind of thing before these new young men, Dugald. They don’t know how kind you were to the missionaries at Baghdad, and they may think you mean it,” a charge to which Sir Dugald offered no defence. It was by means of rebukes of this kind that Lady Haigh kept up the fiction dear to her soul that she ruled her husband with a rod of iron, and guided him gently into the paths it was well for him to take; whereas those who watched the pair were of opinion that Sir Dugald’s was emphatically the ruling spirit, and that his mastery in his own household was so complete that he could afford to allow his wife to think otherwise without making any protest.

In spite of Dick’s careless and positive words to Lady Haigh, it might have been observed that he lingered on the hotel verandah later than any one else that night, and that he appeared there again at a most unearthly hour in the morning, wearing the haggard and strained aspect characteristic of a man who has slept only by fits and starts, owing to the fear of oversleeping himself. One who did not know the circumstances of the case might have said he was there watching for some one, but that would have been manifestly absurd. Whatever might be the cause of his unusual wakefulness, he was occupying his place of the day before when the creaking and groaning of wheels, gradually coming nearer, announced an arrival. A few minutes later, as Georgia, tired and exhausted, descended from the missionaries’ bullock-cart, which was wont to convey Miss Jenkins and Miss Guest, in company with a miniature harmonium, a stock of vernacular gospels, and occasionally a native Bible-woman, on their itinerating tours among the villages around, she discovered him waiting to receive her. She was so tired that she had dozed unconsciously in the bullock-cart, in spite of the rough music of the wheels and of the appalling jolts; and now, awakened suddenly by the cessation of both sound and motion, she stood shivering and blinking in the grey twilight, a sadly unimpressive figure. Dick mercifully forbore to look at her as he took the bag from her hand and helped her up the steps, then settled her in his chair and shouted to the servants to hurry with the doctor lady’s coffee. Georgia tried to protest feebly, but he was adamant.

“You must have something to eat before you go to bed, or we shall have you down with fever this evening. You will allow me to know something of the climate of Khemistan, I hope, though I am not a ‘professional’ man.”

There was an unconscious emphasis on the adjective, which showed Georgia that coals of fire were being heaped upon her head in return for her words of the day before. But she did not respond to the challenge, for she was too much exhausted for a war of words; and, moreover, the coffee was very acceptable, even though it was Major North to whom she owed it. When the sleepy and unwilling servants had made and brought the coffee, however, she paused before tasting it.

“I can’t argue with you now, Major North, but I just want to say this. It was worth while going through all the training, and some of it was bad enough at the time, simply for the sake of this night’s work. If I never attended another case, I should be glad I was a doctor, if only to remember the happiness of those poor Christians in that village.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had attempted to argue,” said Dick, who was busily cutting what he imagined was thin bread and butter. “There, eat that, Miss Keeling. The woman didn’t die, then?”

“No, I hope she will do well. The people, heathen and Christians alike, took it as a miracle. If it helps Miss Guest and Miss Jenkins in their work, I shall be so thankful.”

“Time enough to consider that afterwards,” said Dick, as Georgia put down her cup and sat gazing into the twilight. “If it helps you to an attack of fever, you won’t be thankful, nor shall I. By the bye, what happened to your horse? I hope you didn’t meet with an accident?”

“Oh no, but I was so dreadfully sleepy that I was afraid to ride, and the ladies lent me their bullock-cart. They are to send the horse back later in the day. You mustn’t think that I am generally so much overcome by sleep after spending a night out of bed as I am now. When I was in hospital I thought nothing of sitting up. It is simply that I am out of practice.”

“Of course,” said Dick, politely, suppressing the retort he would infallibly have made had things been in their normal condition. It was so pleasant to be caring for Georgia in this way, without feeling the slightest desire to quarrel with her, that he began to wish she would be called out every night by her professional duties. What did his own broken slumbers signify? At any rate, he had stolen a march on that young fool Anstruther now. He had not thought of seeing that Miss Keeling had something to eat when she came in. And Dick caught himself afterwards recalling with something like tenderness, a feeling which was obviously out of the question, the pressure of Miss Keeling’s hand as she shook hands with him before going indoors, and the tones of her voice as she said—

“Thank you so much, Major North. It was most kind of you to take all this trouble for me. I hope you won’t be very tired after getting up so early.”

“Oh, I just happened to be out here. I didn’t sleep very well,” he explained, airily, and went off well satisfied with his own readiness of resource, not dreaming that Georgia, in her own room, was saying bitterly to herself as she took down her hair—

“He need not have told me so particularly that he didn’t get up because of me. I knew he did not, of course, but it wasn’t necessary for him to say it. Well, I shall not presume upon his kindness, although he is afraid I may.”

The natural consequence of this deceitful excess of candour on Dick’s part was, that when he met her next, he found that he had lost any ground which his ready services might have gained for him in Miss Keeling’s estimation. For him the events of the early morning had cast a glamour over the rest of the day, and when he saw Georgia again towards evening, he was prepared to meet her with the friendliness natural between two people who had found the barrier of prejudice which separated them partially broken down. But she received him with the easy graciousness she would have shown to the merest acquaintance, expressing her gratitude for his kindness, indeed, but ignoring entirely the approach to something like intimacy which he thought had been established between them. Dick was not accustomed to be repulsed in this way, and when he overheard Georgia telling Sir Dugald how fortunate it had been for her that she found Major North up when she returned, and how kind he had been in getting her some coffee, his wrath, if not loud, was deep. She was betraying what he liked to think of as a secret known only to their two selves, and making an ass of him before the other fellows. This led him to remember that, after all, circumstances were unchanged. Georgia was still a doctor, and displayed no symptoms of being convinced, whether against her will or otherwise, by his arguments against the existence of medical women, or of discontinuing the practice of her profession. Nay more, Dick was beginning to see that it was unlikely she would ever be so convinced, and that if there was to be peace between them it must be on the basis of acquiescence in facts as they were. Hence, as he was still determined under no circumstances to extend even the barest toleration to lady doctors, it is not surprising that Dick felt himself a much injured man, and that his soul revolted a dozen times a-day against the conclusions at which he had been forced to arrive.

As for Georgia, she continued to take pains to show him that she quite understood his view of the case, which she did not, and devoted herself largely to itinerating in the country round with Miss Jenkins and Miss Guest. She was welcomed on account of her medical skill in many places where they had not been able to gain a footing, and had the pleasure of knowing that she left these houses open to her friends for the future. The work proved to be so interesting that she was very sorry to leave it, and on the eve of departure she confided to Lady Haigh the resolution she had definitely formed to come back to Bab-us-Sahel when the Mission returned from Kubbet-ul-Haj, and to settle down with Miss Guest and Miss Jenkins.

“Nonsense, Georgie! you mustn’t throw away your talents like that,” cried Lady Haigh, aghast.

“But I should only stay here until they would allow me to settle on the frontier, of course,” said Georgia.

“I wish General Keeling were alive,” said Lady Haigh, irritably. “He would very soon put a stop to these absurd schemes. Or I wish you were married. That would do as well.”

“But if that is one reason for my not marrying?” asked Georgia.

CHAPTER V.
ACROSS THE FRONTIER.

“When we come to the crest of this rise we shall be able to see Fort Rahmat-Ullah in the distance,” said Stratford to Georgia. He had quitted his place in the long cavalcade formed by the members of the Mission and their baggage-animals, as it made its way across the broken ground, alternately sandy and rocky, which characterises the districts lying near the frontier of Khemistan, and had joined the two doctors, who were riding somewhat in advance of the caravan in order to escape the dust. Dr Headlam turned back to the side of Lady Haigh, with whom Stratford had been riding, and Georgia looked round at her new cavalier with eyes of eager interest.

“It was Fort Rahmat-Ullah that Major North relieved, wasn’t it?” she asked, although she knew perfectly well what the answer would be.

“Yes, during our last little war but two or three. It is our farthest outpost on this frontier, and, when the tribes were up, they naturally set their hearts on getting hold of it. Of course the garrison has been strengthened since then, and the pax Britannica is quite effective in the neighbourhood. We are to spend a few days at the fort, you know, before we bid farewell to civilisation, and make our dash into the desert, so that it is a comfort to feel that we need not expect to find ourselves besieged there. The only drawback is that North will be away.”

“Away?” asked Georgia in astonishment.

“Yes, didn’t you hear that he had got leave from the chief to go and see a friend away at Alibad, to the west of us? They used to work together in the old days, but North had the chance of distinction and got his V.C. and his promotion, and the other man didn’t. I rather like to see North going off in this way to look him up—shows he doesn’t forget old friends, and that sort of thing—and perhaps he is just as glad not to be lionised at the fort. It’s a little hard on us, though.”

“Yes, it is a little suggestive of ‘Hamlet’ with Hamlet left out,” observed Georgia, meditatively, determined that Mr Stratford should not perceive the unreasoning disappointment with which the news had infected her.

“And yet I don’t quite see what he could do for us if he was there, beyond giving us the gratification of beholding him on his native heath, so to speak,” pursued Stratford.

“Oh, well,” said Georgia, carelessly, “I was reckoning on his being able to ride out with us along the way he went, and show us just where his different adventures happened. It would make it seem so much more real, you know.” She was speaking easily and naturally, bent on accounting to herself as well as to Mr Stratford for that absurd sense of disappointment, which was so keen that she feared it must before this have betrayed itself in face or voice. But were Dick’s adventures not real to her? Had she not scanned the papers day by day at the time of the siege as eagerly as Mabel herself? And when at last the full account reached England of the relief of the fort, and of the heroism of the man through whose enterprise it had been accomplished, had she not bowed her head upon the page of the ‘Thunderer’ and cried heartily, out of pure joy in the remembrance that this man had once loved her? Decidedly there was no need that the events attending the relief of Fort Rahmat-Ullah should be rendered more vivid for Georgia; but Stratford seemed struck by the justice of her remark.

“That is quite true, Miss Keeling. North is treating us all very shabbily. I hope you will put it to him at lunch. He leaves us after the mid-day halt, you know.”

But Miss Keeling did not choose to do anything of the kind, and when Sir Dugald appealed to her to join in condemning North’s desertion, she smiled pleasantly as she answered, that no doubt Major North feared lest the attraction of his presence at Fort Rahmat-Ullah should distract the attention of the visitors from the less interesting duties which ought to engross them. The remark was intended to make Dick uncomfortable; and when Georgia saw that he was raging inwardly over the construction she had put upon his motives, absurd though it was, she felt happier, as having in some degree repaid him for the disappointment he had inflicted upon her, although, when he had ridden away, still fuming, she was filled with compunction, and spent some time in solitude and self-reproach, which meant bemoaning her own touchiness and calling herself names.

Her sorrow was not allowed to sleep, for at Fort Rahmat-Ullah everything around seemed calculated to recall Dick to her memory. The scenes connected with his great exploit were held in universal reverence, and from the officers of the detachment quartered in the fort nothing was heard but lamentations over his absence. On the very first evening the new-comers were swept away by the general wave of enthusiasm, and allowed themselves to be personally conducted round the walls, in order to have the different localities rendered memorable by the siege pointed out to them. But this was merely an informal inspection, for the next morning an old European sergeant, who had taken part in the Relief of Lucknow, and was now employed as some kind of clerk in the fort, made his appearance, and expressed a readiness to act as cicerone during a second tour of the place.

“Evidently,” said Stratford, “the thing to do here is to make the circuit of the walls once a-day, each time with a different guide.”

“We shall get together a good collection of the different legends which are beginning to crystallise round North’s exploit,” said Dr Headlam, who was a student of folk-lore. “I suppose we must go, or we shall hurt this old chap’s feelings. He regards North as something like a demigod.”

“I think once round the walls is enough for me,” said Sir Dugald, “so I must hope that the tutelary deity of the place will not be very furious at my neglect when we meet him again. What do the ladies intend to do?”

“Oh, we are going, of course,” said Lady Haigh, promptly, unfurling a huge white umbrella. “I always make a point of seeing and hearing everything I can about everybody.”

Sir Dugald sighed almost imperceptibly, and buried himself once more in his Ethiopian grammar, while the rest started out under the guidance of the old soldier. Constant practice on every new-comer who came in his way had made the sergeant perfect in the tale he had to tell. He knew exactly the points at which his hearers would be thrilled with horror or touched with sympathy, and he enjoyed keeping them on the rack of suspense when he reached a crisis in his story. He had been in the fort himself at the time of the siege, and Georgia held her breath as he described the wearing terror of the night-attacks, and the uneasiness of the long days, troubled by fears of the enemy without and of famine within the walls. Then she saw, as clearly as if she had been present, the little group of officers gathered in a shadowy corner of the ramparts one morning before night had given place to day. Dick was among them, disguised as one of the fair-skinned hillmen often met with along the Khemistan frontier, and he was going out alone, taking his life in his hand, in the forlorn hope of getting through the enemy and bringing help to the fort. So slight was the prospect of success that none but those who happened to be on the ramparts when he started knew of his expedition; and the women in the place, who were not told about it for fear of raising baseless hopes only to be dashed again, thought that he had been killed in a night sortie and his body not recovered. One by one his fellows gripped his hand and bade God keep him in his enterprise; then he was let down swiftly to the ground outside by means of a rope suspended in the shadow of the turret, and before the rope could be drawn up his form had melted into the shadows around.

Almost immediately on setting out he was met by perhaps the gravest of the perils he was to encounter. Descending a rugged hill into a dry watercourse, which he hoped would afford him a measure of cover, the loose stones rolling under his feet betrayed him to the drowsy watchman of a party of the enemy, who were sleeping, wrapped in their mantles, round a smouldering fire. They were between him and the fort, and there was no hope of retreat; but as the sentry’s bullet came skipping over the rocks past him, and the sleepers, on the alert at once, sat up and grasped their weapons, Dick’s resolution was taken. With a cry of joy he rushed towards the fire and inquired eagerly and incoherently in Khemistani whether the fort had fallen and he was too late to take his part in the plundering. The party upon whom he had chanced were all good Moslems, and their rage was extreme on discovering by his dress that the intruder was a hillman, and that they had been awakened because a wretch of an idolater was trying to get a share of their booty. He was driven from their camp with blows and curses, and ordered to tell his people that any further attempt to participate in the expected spoils would be met with force of arms. The same ruse helped him again and again during the day. On sighting a part of the enemy, he had only to approach them humbly and detail what had happened to him, asking for redress, when the same fate would befall him immediately on his mentioning what his crime had been. Every chase took him farther from the fort and nearer to civilisation, and at last he fell in with a small party of hillmen, fleeing from the hated Moslems into territory which was still British, who allowed him to join himself to them.

But this meeting landed him in another danger, for although he could speak the hill dialect well enough to pass muster with the lowlanders, he could not deceive those whose native tongue it was. For some time he parried questions by declaring that he belonged to a different tribe; but the hillmen grew more and more suspicious, thinking that he must be a spy from the camp of their hereditary foes. They kept a close watch on him, and he gathered that they intended to deliver him up to the first British patrol they came across. This would have suited his purpose excellently but for the extremely slow rate at which his new friends travelled, and he seized the first opportunity that offered itself of eluding their vigilance and striking off across country to the nearest fort. His late entertainers pursued him; but he reached the fort first and delivered his message, so that when the hillmen arrived they were electrified to behold him in uniform assisting in the preparations for the relief expedition. Thence his course had been, as Fitz Anstruther remarked irreverently, “a triumphal procession,” an observation which the old soldier who was acting as guide took in very good part.

“Ay,” he said, “and we are all proud of him here. We don’t have many ladies come to the fort, especially since the rising; but to hear some of them talk that have been here this last year, you’d think the whole place wasn’t nothing but a memorial of him, though there! we’re just about as bad ourselves. When a new subaltern joins—though it ain’t often we get them raw enough—the officers take him round and show him everything. When they get to the north face they tell him, ‘This here was named after Major North. He started on his journey down the slope.’ There wasn’t more than one of them took it right in; but the rest are always puzzled, and don’t like to contradict. By the time they’ve got it worked out in their minds they’re as proud of the Major as any of us, and had rather follow North of the Khemistan Horse than the Commander-in-Chief. Ah! he’s a brave chap and a cool one, and we were downright mad when we knew we were not to have him back here; but he’ll want all his bravery and all his level-headedness where you’re going.”

“Come, sergeant, you mustn’t frighten the ladies,” said Stratford.

“Frighten the ladies!” repeated the old man, scornfully. “I could a deal sooner frighten any of you gentlemen, and no offence to you, sir, neither. I’ve seen a good many frontier ladies in my time, and I can tell that these two is just as full of spirit as an egg is full of meat. Looking out for adventures, ma’am, ain’t you?” to Georgia. “I thought so; and her ladyship there, she’s been through so much that she ain’t afraid of nothing.”

“This is reassuring,” said Lady Haigh. “I hope you young men are now convinced what desirable travelling companions we are?”

“I don’t so much know about that,” said the old sergeant, reflectively. “I suppose as you’ll bundle yourselves up in veils, like the women of the country, when you get to Ethiopia, my lady?”

“Yes, I hear that we must,” returned Lady Haigh.

“That’s all right, then, and I’ll make bold to give the young lady a bit of advice. Don’t you go playing no tricks with your veil, ma’am; you keep it down when there’s any Ethiopians about. I could tell you of times when a whole caravan has been cut up for the sake of one woman, and she made a slave of.”

“Miss Keeling, you must swallow the warning for the sake of the compliment contained in it,” said Dr Headlam, while Fitz glared speechlessly at the sergeant, who went on in a meditative voice—

“No, it don’t so much signify what the woman is like, so long as she’s different to theirs. Not but what I dare be bound as they’d find they’d caught a Tartar in this young lady. She would be queen instead of slave before they’d done with her.”

“This is really too flattering!” said Georgia, her face flushing. “Have you anything more to show us, sergeant?”

“I’m afraid as that’s all, ma’am. But don’t you go for to be offended at my plain speaking. I could tell you was a lady of spirit by your going to Kubbet-ul-Haj at all. And, bless you, you can do near everything with these fellows if you talk big a little, and don’t let ’em see as you are shaking in your shoes all the time.”

The old man’s face as he enunciated this doctrine was so comical that Georgia accepted the implied apology, and the affair ended in a laugh.

“It never struck me that we were to wear veils as a protection,” said Georgia to Lady Haigh as they returned to their quarters. “I thought it was only for fear of outraging the people’s feelings.”

“If it had been only that,” returned Lady Haigh, “I should certainly have refused on principle to wear a veil. You know that I have knocked about a good deal, my dear. When Sir Dugald asked me to marry him, he said he felt quite guilty in trying to allure me away from all my friends and my work, and I seized the opportunity of stipulating for the very thing I wanted. I said I shouldn’t mind leaving everything in the slightest if he would only promise to take me with him wherever he went. He did promise, and I have gone everywhere with him—to some very strange places indeed. I have often been where no English lady had ever been seen before; but I have always refused to cover my face. They used to tell me that the people were not accustomed to see a woman unveiled. ‘Well, then, they must become accustomed to it,’ I always said. Then they suggested that it might outrage their religious sentiments; but, as I pointed out, people must learn not to let their feelings be hurt so easily. But this time it was different. When it came to be a case of endangering the safety of the whole Mission, Sir Dugald told me that the choice lay between his breaking his promise and leaving me behind and my wearing a veil. I did not see it at all, because the Kubbet-ul-Haj people ought to accustom themselves to seeing new things, and I really yielded solely on account of you. Dugald”—they had reached their own verandah by this time—“didn’t I tell you that I only consented to wear a veil for Miss Keeling’s sake?”

“I believe you have mentioned the fact more than once, now that I come to think of it,” returned Sir Dugald, looking up from his book.

“But really, Lady Haigh, I am not afraid,” said Georgia. “If you think that the old man was only talking nonsense, I will join you in organising a protest against Ethiopian customs with the greatest pleasure, for I should much prefer not wearing a veil.”

“Oh, but it really is necessary for you, my dear. It is different in my case; I am old, and I never was anything much to look at, and I am indubitably married. But suppose the King should see you, and take it into his head to want to make you his fifteenth wife——”

“As a Mohammedan he is not allowed more than four,” interposed Sir Dugald, mildly.

“Oh, I am sure he doesn’t count the ones he has killed or divorced!” said Lady Haigh. “Well, in any case, Georgie, it would be very awkward. You might refuse to marry him, but he wouldn’t take a refusal. He would simply request Sir Dugald to settle the matter. If he was told that it was the custom in England to allow ladies their choice, he would say that at Kubbet-ul-Haj you must do as the Kubbet-ul-Hajis did. Then, if you still refused, he might do as the old man suggested, and murder us all to get hold of you. So you see that it is really necessary for you to cover your face, and I do it to keep you company.”

“But with the veil, you will, of course, adopt the other dictates of Eastern etiquette,” said Sir Dugald, “which forbid a lady to speak to any man not of her immediate family?”

“That would be dreadfully dull for me,” said Lady Haigh. “What should I do when you were busy?”

“Far worse for me,” cried Georgia. “I protest against such treatment, Sir Dugald! Do you mean to condemn me to perpetual silence? I have no relations of any kind here.”

“Ah, Eastern society makes no provision for the New Woman,” observed Sir Dugald.

Georgia groaned.

“I am so dreadfully tired of that name,” she said. “But I believe, Sir Dugald, that Eastern etiquette would oblige Lady Haigh and me to ride humbly behind with the servants while you gentlemen were cantering gaily in front—wouldn’t it? Is that to be the order of our going?”

“No, I think we must make up our minds to disregard Ethiopian opinion in that respect,” said Sir Dugald. “Don’t be afraid, Miss Keeling, you shall lay aside your veils in the tents and when we get to our own quarters at Kubbet-ul-Haj. It is only in the streets and on the march that you need wear them.”

“And really they are not so very bad,” said Lady Haigh, shaking out a heap of white drapery. “When I knew we must make up our minds to such garments I determined that they should be as little trouble as possible, so I got these burkas made. I remembered seeing the women wearing them in the Panjab long ago. You see, the burka is simply put on over everything, and covers you from head to foot without an opening—merely that embroidered lattice-work for the eyes. It gives you no trouble; whereas the isar, which the Baghdadi women wear, and which poor Cecil Egerton was obliged to adopt when she was governess at the Palace, is nothing but a sheet pure and simple. You have to hold it together in front with one hand and over your face with the other. No matter how bad the weather may be, you can never spare a hand to hold up your dress or your sheet drops; you must just trail through the mud. I could not stand that.”

Georgia acknowledged thankfully the wisdom of Lady Haigh’s remarks, and when the day arrived on which the actual journey to Kubbet-ul-Haj was to begin, she put on the burka without a murmur. The start was an imposing sight, for most of the officers in the fort accompanied the Mission as far as the Ethiopian frontier, and the rest of the garrison lined the walls and sped the parting guests with a rousing cheer. The servants and baggage had started earlier in the day, and when they had been caught up a halt was made for lunch, after which the travellers delivered themselves into the hands of the body of Ethiopian troops who had been sent to meet them on the frontier and escort them to the capital, and the British officers returned to Fort Rahmat-Ullah. Dick North came riding up just in time to fall into his place in the cavalcade, and the long array of riders and baggage-animals took their way across the frontier.

The cavalry escort, of which one portion headed the procession, while the remainder brought up the rear, was not calculated, so far as its outward aspect was concerned, to allay any apprehensions that might have been fluttering the breasts of the timid. Its members were wild, reckless-looking fellows, evidently ready to go anywhere and do anything, but apparently quite as well qualified to rob their convoy as to protect it. Uniformity of dress or accoutrements among them there was none; but they resembled one another in that they were all fierce of face, all unbridled of speech, all extremely dirty, and all armed to the teeth with a wonderfully miscellaneous collection of weapons. It seemed almost madness to take ladies into the heart of a country which, until very lately, had been actively hostile, under the guardianship of such men as these, and the younger members of the Mission felt their hearts sink suddenly with an unwonted feeling of apprehension as they took their last look at the fort—that isolated outpost of Britain and civilisation on the borders of barbarism. But Sir Dugald’s impassive face betrayed no emotion whatever as he halted beside the track to allow the caravan to file past him, and the younger men took comfort as they remembered that their leader was one who, although he had not hitherto had the opportunity of distinguishing himself in a wide field, was reputed never to have made a mistake in the many minor but still important duties with which he had been intrusted.

Nor had Sir Dugald himself started for Kubbet-ul-Haj with a heart so light as to induce him to neglect any precaution that lay in his power. When it had once been ascertained that the passage of an escort of British, or even of Indian, troops through Ethiopian territory was out of the question, Sir Dugald agreed at once to intrust the safety of the Mission to the King’s own soldiers. But he bestowed special care on the selection of the servants who were to accompany the expedition, down to the very camel-men, choosing, so far as was possible, old soldiers, and these from the frontier, where there was always a hearty feeling of dislike simmering against the Ethiopians. These men might be relied upon to hold together in the strange country, and to show a bold front in case of necessity; and they also despised the Ethiopians far too much to associate with them, which lessened the likelihood both of quarrels and plots. With the exception of the wives of a few of these men, there were only two women among the servants—Lady Haigh’s elderly Syrian attendant Marta, and Georgia’s maid. This was a Khemistani girl named Rahah, a waif from the frontier who had found her way in some mysterious manner to Bab-us-Sahel, and after being handed over to the missionary ladies to be taken care of, had been trained by Miss Guest—who suffered much in the process—as a lady’s-maid. Her name was supposed by the learned to mean “rest,” but her character was not in accordance with it, for there was no rest for any human being that had anything to do with Rahah. Her chief recommendations for the post she now held were her undeniable cleverness with her fingers and some knowledge of the Ethiopian language, which might prove useful to her mistress in communicating with female patients, while she had already learnt, during the past few weeks, to render considerable assistance to Georgia as anæsthetist and dresser.

The caravan which was composed of such incongruous elements found its journey more peaceful than might have been anticipated. The members of the escort, although somewhat addicted to the snapping up of unconsidered trifles, were capable of frightening away any other robbers, and on the march were content to keep at a respectful distance from their charges. In this foreign country there could be none of those digressions from the track which had proved so pleasant in Khemistan, but the members of the Mission were not altogether without subjects of interest to occupy them. Georgia and Dr Headlam were making a collection of all the birds, plants, and insects they met with, for in this respect Ethiopia was new ground. Sir Dugald was ruthless in his refusal to allow more than one collection to be carried with the expedition, and the rival collectors were thus deprived of the stimulus of competition. The only thing to be done was to allow the first finder of a new species to monopolise the glory of its possession until a finer specimen was discovered, and in this finding Dr Headlam complained that Georgia had an unfair advantage, since Fitz was always at her service and eager to help her. But in spite of little squabbles of this kind everything went pleasantly, chiefly owing, Fitz said, to the fact that North was generally so busily occupied with his duties of noting the configuration of the country and the windings of the track, with a view to map-making, that he had no time to ride with the others and enter into conversation. Since his return to the rest of the party he had scarcely spoken to Georgia, and she told herself that it was better so.

This was the state of affairs when the march came to an end; and the Mission, amid the thunder of very rickety cannon, the shouting of the populace, and the shrill welcoming cries of the women, entered the city of Kubbet-ul-Haj.

CHAPTER VI.
AN OFFER OF CO-OPERATION.

“The King of all Kings, the Upholder of the Universe, places this hovel at the disposal of his high eminence the Queen of England’s Envoy, and entreats that he will deign to use it as his own,” said the sleek official who had been deputed to meet the travellers and bring them into the town, as he paused opposite the doorway of a large house and indicated with extended hand that the end of the journey had been reached.

“In other words, this imposing building is to be our residence for the present,” said Sir Dugald, riding into the courtyard and turning round. “Allow me to welcome you to Kubbet-ul-Haj, ladies.”

“It is not as good as Baghdad,” said Lady Haigh, looking round disparagingly on the whitewashed walls; “but I daresay we shall be very comfortable. After all, it won’t be for long.”

“Express my thanks to the King,” said Sir Dugald pointedly to the messenger, “and tell him that the pleasantness of our quarters will make us anxious to prolong our stay in his city.”

The official, well-pleased, stayed only to point out the entrance to the second courtyard of which the house boasted, and to intimate that if the accommodation provided should prove to be too limited, another house could easily be secured, and then took his departure; while the new arrivals passed under an archway into the inner court, to find facing them the chief rooms of the establishment. These were evidently intended as Sir Dugald’s quarters, and Lady Haigh surveyed them with high approval.

“Come!” she said. “We shall not be so badly off after all. I was beginning to be afraid we should be as much crowded as you were at Agra in the Mutiny, Dugald. I think the rooms on that side will do nicely for you, Georgie.”

“I don’t know whether you will all be able to find quarters in the first block of buildings, gentlemen,” said Sir Dugald to his staff when he had helped his wife and Georgia to dismount, and they had gone indoors to explore. “I must have Mr Kustendjian there, for he may be wanted at any moment, and I doubt whether that will leave you rooms enough.”

“If any one has to seek quarters outside, I hope I may be the favoured man,” said Dr Headlam. “Judging by the sights I saw as we came through the streets, and the cries for medicine which were addressed to me, there is an enormous amount of disease here, and I shall have my hands pretty full if I begin to try any outside practice. I think I am justified in believing that you would approve of such a course, Sir Dugald? It could only make the Mission more popular.”

“By all means, if you wish it; but don’t wear yourself out with doctoring all Kubbet-ul-Haj, and forget that you came here as surgeon to the Mission. You think you will do better if you are lodged outside?”

“Well, I didn’t quite like the idea of bringing all the filth and rascality of Kubbet-ul-Haj into the Mission headquarters, but that would remove the objection. I think it would be both safer and more agreeable for all of us if you would allow me to camp in some other house.”

“Then perhaps you could take that collection of yours over to your new quarters as well as your other belongings? It is not altogether the most delightful of objects.”

“Either as to sight or smell,” put in Dick North. “Those beasts you have preserved in spirits are enough to give a man the horrors, doctor.”

“Oh, our much-maligned masterpieces shall share my quarters, by all means,” said the doctor. “If Miss Keeling breaks her heart over parting with the collection, don’t blame me.”

“Miss Keeling will probably bear the loss with equanimity,” said Sir Dugald. “Natural history collections are not exactly ladies’ toys. At any rate, if she is uneasy about the state of her pet specimens you can bring her bulletins respecting them at meal-times. We shall see you as usual at tiffin and at dinner, I suppose, doctor? And you know that Lady Haigh is always glad to welcome you at tea.”

“I shall certainly not decline such an invitation in favour of solitary meals hastily partaken of amongst the specimens,” said Dr Headlam.

“Then we may consider that settled,” said Sir Dugald. “I think we may regard ourselves as fairly fortunate in our quarters here. What is your opinion, Stratford?”

“I think the place is very well adapted for our business, certainly,” returned Stratford. “The general public will only be admitted to the outer court, I suppose?”

“Yes; the large room on the ground-floor of your quarters will serve as our durbar-hall,” said Sir Dugald, “and the attendants of the Ethiopian officials can remain on the verandah. This inner court must be sacred to the ladies, so that they may go about unveiled. No Ethiopian can be allowed to cross the threshold without an invitation, and only those must be invited who know something of English usages and will not be shocked by what they see. The raised verandah before the house will no doubt serve as a drawing-room. What do you think of the place, North?”

“Good position for defence,” said Dick, meditatively. “You hold the outer court as long as you can, and then fall back upon the first block of buildings. When that becomes untenable, you blow it up and retire upon the second block.”

“Until you have to blow that up too, and yourself with it, I suppose?” said Sir Dugald. “For the ladies’ sake, I must say I hope we shall not have to put the defensive capabilities of the house to such a severe test. Well, gentlemen, we shall meet at dinner. No doubt you will like to get your things settled a little. Your own servants will be able to find quarters in your block, but the rest must occupy the buildings round the outer court.”

When Sir Dugald had thus declared his will the party separated, the staff proceeding to their quarters in Bachelors’ Buildings, as the first block was unanimously named, and allotting the rooms among themselves on the principle of seniority; while the doctor went house-hunting with the aid of a minor official who had been left in the outer court to give any help or information that might be needed. Under his auspices a much smaller house, only separated from the headquarters of the Mission by a narrow street, was secured, and hither Dr Headlam removed with his servants and the famous collection. When the members of the Mission met at dinner they had shaken down fairly well in their several abodes, and after a little inevitable grumbling over accustomed luxuries which were here unattainable, they displayed a disposition to regard the situation with contentment and the rest of mankind with charity. Sir Dugald noted down certain points on which it would be necessary to appeal for assistance to the urbane gentleman who had instituted the party into their habitation, while Lady Haigh promised help in matters which could be set right by feminine intuition and a needle and thread, and peace reigned at headquarters.

It was not until dinner was over and the members of the Mission were partaking of coffee on the terrace, with the lights of the dining-room behind mingling incongruously with the moonlight around them and outshining the twinkling lamps visible here and there in the loftier habitations outside the walls of the house, that an interruption occurred, and the quiet was broken by the entrance of Chanda Lal, Sir Dugald’s bearer, with a visiting-card, which he handed to his master on a tray.

“What’s this, bearer?” asked Sir Dugald, impatiently.

“Highness, the sahib bade me bring it to you.”

“The sahib? Here? In Kubbet-ul-Haj? Who is he? What is he doing here?” Sir Dugald’s brow was darkening ominously.

“Highness, I know not. I said that the burra sahib received no visitors this evening, and the sahib said, ‘Take this to your burra sahib, and tell him that my name is Heekis, and that I wish to see him.’”

“‘Elkanah B. Hicks. “Empire City Crier,”’” read Sir Dugald from the card in his hand in a tone of stupefaction. “In the name of all that is abominable!” he cried, with lively disgust, “it’s a newspaper correspondent, and an American at that, and here before us!”

“I know the name,” said Stratford. “Hicks was the ‘Crier’ correspondent who made himself so prominent over the Thracian business. He was arrested and conducted to the frontier while the second revolution was going on.”

“The very worst kind of busybody!” said Sir Dugald, wrathfully. “I only wish that Drakovics had shot him when he had him safe. What does he mean by poking himself in here?”

“He is in search of marketable ‘copy,’ without a doubt,” said Stratford, “and he is taking the most direct way to get it. He has a fancy for talking and behaving like a sort of semi-civilised Artemus Ward, which takes in a good many people; but he is considered about the smartest man on the ‘Crier’ staff, and that is saying a good deal.”

“Whatever his fancies may be,” growled Sir Dugald, “I don’t see that they are any excuse for the man’s thrusting himself upon me out of business hours without the ghost of an introduction.”

“Still, dear,” said Lady Haigh, “we had better have him in and be friendly to him. In a place like this white people are bound to hang together, and I dare say we shall find him very pleasant.”

“Bring the sahib in,” said Sir Dugald, shortly, to Chanda Lal, adopting his wife’s pacific suggestion, but without any lightening of countenance; and presently the bearer ushered in a lank, sallow man, rather over middle age, with a straggling lightish beard, and hair that seemed to stand somewhat in need of the scissors. As Fitz said afterwards, if he had only worn striped trousers and a starred waistcoat, Mr Hicks would have represented to the life the Brother Jonathan of American, not English, caricaturists. Sir Dugald received his visitor with frigid politeness, and the staff, taking their cue from him, did the same; but Mr Hicks appeared to feel no embarrassment, although the tender hearts of Lady Haigh and Georgia were moved to pity on his account. He was duly supplied with coffee; and when Georgia had passed him a plate of cakes he stretched his long limbs comfortably as he reclined in a cane chair and beamed upon the party.

“It makes one feel real high-toned,” he said, slowly, “to be waited upon out here at the back of creation by two lovely and cultured daughters of Albion.”

Sir Dugald gave him a stony glance in reply; while the younger men, uncertain whether the remark was to be considered as due to deliberate rudeness or to ignorance, wavered between amusement and indignation. Lady Haigh answered pleasantly but coldly—

“We are not accustomed to be treated to quite such elaborate compliments, Mr Hicks; but no doubt American manners differ from ours. So I have always understood, at least.”

“You bet they do, ma’am!” was Mr Hicks’ reply, delivered with almost startling emphasis. “When your nigger let me in just now, and the General there stepped forward and said, ‘Mr Hicks, I presume?’ hanged if I didn’t think I had got into a Belgravian drawing-room, or into Central Africa with Stanley, instead of finding a party of civilised white people in the midst of Ethiopia! I guess I’m not cut out for shows of this kind, any way.”

“You prefer a European post, perhaps?” suggested Stratford, as Sir Dugald remained silent.

“You may consider that proved, sir, some! I can fly around with any man in a civilised country, and back myself to send home more ‘copy’ than the paper can use; but I was a fool to cable back ‘Done!’ when the Editor wired, ‘Can you start for Ethiopia next week, and keep an eye on this Mission business?’ Set me down in a telegraph bureau, with a dozen newspaper men there before me and only one wire, and I’ll bet you my bottom dollar that my despatch will go over that wire before any of the other fellows’; but when it comes to organising a dromedary-service to carry my ‘copy’ week by week, it makes me tired of life.”

“If you find it so hard to send your letters, how did you surmount the difficulties of getting up here yourself?” asked Sir Dugald, with a faint appearance of interest.

“I must confess to getting along by taking your name in vain, General,” returned Mr Hicks, easily. “I travelled around for a week or two in Khemistan, just to throw your frontier people off the scent and to make friends with some of the natives. They smuggled me across into Ethiopia in disguise, and I told the people here that I was sent out to write about the Mission and note how it was received, which was quite true. Consequently I was taken everywhere for an emissary of your Government, which has smoothed the way for me considerably. I guess it will gratify you to know that your name was a passport most everywhere.”

“Having heard you were a newspaper correspondent,” said Sir Dugald, “I might have guessed what your methods would be.”

“We military people,” said Lady Haigh, again interposing as peacemaker, “have an odd prejudice against special correspondents, Mr Hicks. It is awkward, but you must be kind enough to excuse it.”

“It’s nothing to what I should feel if I was in the General’s place, ma’am,” said Mr Hicks, affably. “I wouldn’t have one in my camp for any money. They might pillory me throughout the Press of the Union, but so long as I kept them off I should smile. Now, General, after that handsome acknowledgment, I hope we are friends?”

“It’s nothing to what I should feel if I was in the General’s place, ma’am,” said Mr Hicks, affably.

“I hope so,” returned Sir Dugald, still unsoftened.

“I should like to do a deal with you, General,” continued Mr Hicks. “If you could spare me a minute or two alone, I think I could convince you that we have interests in common.”

“Work is over at this time of night,” said Sir Dugald, icily. “If I can be of service to you in any little difficulty with the authorities here, or with regard to the postal arrangements, I shall be happy to see you in the morning. My office hours begin at six.”

“Do you wish to name any special time, General?”

“By no means, Mr Hicks.” Sir Dugald fixed a blank uncomprehending gaze on the American’s face. “It is my duty to support the interests of the subjects of friendly powers wherever I can, and I hope you will attend to state your case at the time most convenient to yourself.”

“I guess you don’t understand me, General. I can fix my own affairs, thank you. What I want is to arrange a trade. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want, do you see? I should prefer to speak to you in private as to the exact terms.”

“Any proposal you have to make to me must be uttered in the presence of these gentlemen, if you please.”

Mr Hicks laughed uneasily.

“Well, your way of doing business licks Wall Street,” he said. “What I have to say is, you give me the information I may need as to the plans and intentions of your Government, and I will give you some pieces of news without which you will do nothing here.”

“You are an accredited agent of the United States Government?” asked Sir Dugald.

“Not at all, sir. I represent the ‘Empire City Crier.’”

“And I represent her Britannic Majesty. I regret that the ‘deal’ to which you have referred cannot come off.”

“Then your Mission will be a failure, General.”

“Pardon me, but that is no concern of yours.”

“Well, you are the first man I ever knew bring a wife and daughter into a place like this on such an almighty poor chance. I don’t know what you think, gentlemen”—Mr Hicks wheeled round in his chair and glanced at the rest of the party—“but I say—and I know something about this place—that you have a precious small hope of getting out of Kubbet-ul-Haj with your lives if your Mission does fail.”

“You really must excuse my staff from commenting on your interesting piece of information, Mr Hicks,” said Sir Dugald, smoothly; “but they are not accustomed to be set up as a court of appeal over me.”

“May I ask, General, whether you know why Fath-ud-Din, the Grand Vizier, did not ride out to welcome you to-day?”

“I believe he was ill,” said Sir Dugald, stifling a yawn.

“He was so sick that he was riding past my house to the bath at the moment you were entering the city on the other side.”

“I don’t quite see,” said Dick, “why a piece of bad manners on Fath-ud-Din’s part should be such a fearful omen for us.”

“I guess you think yourself dreadful smart, Colonel,” returned Mr Hicks; “but you soldier officers are a bit too cute sometimes. Old Fath-ud-Din is a bad crowd generally, and he means mischief. Leaving him out of account, what do you think has happened to your friend the Crown Prince, Rustam Khan? Has he dropped in on you here yet?”

“Scarcely,” said Dick. “We have not arrived so very long, you know.”

“That is so.” Mr Hicks disregarded the sarcasm implied in the words. “But I know something of that young man, and I can tell you he would have been around here like greased lightning if he had had the chance. He was afraid of losing his scalp if he attempted it. The fact is, you gentlemen are behind the times.”

“Ah, but we’ll be truly grateful if you’ll enlighten us a little,” put in Fitz, in a most alluring brogue, which he kept for use on special occasions.

Mr Hicks glanced sharply at Sir Dugald. The slightest sign of interest or eagerness would have determined him to impart no information except at a price, but the look of repressed weariness which was just visible in the half-light served to pique the American into doing his best to surprise and startle his bored and scornful host. He leant back in his chair with his thumbs stuck in his waistcoat pockets.

“We think we are pretty slick in fixing things out West,” he said, “but they have by no means a bad notion of history-making out here. When it was arranged that your Mission should start, General, Rustam Khan was in high favour with his father, old Fath-ud-Din was biting his nails in disgrace, and the people were all in love with the English. But we have had a Palace revolution since then. The King’s second wife (she is Fath-ud-Din’s sister, and they all hang together) gave her husband one of her slave-girls, the prettiest she could pick up anywhere, and that brought her into high favour, and all her relations with her. She is young Antar Khan’s mother, and he is prime favourite now, while Rustam Khan and his mother, the King’s first wife, are nowhere. Curious what little things bring about these big changes, isn’t it?”

“The details of these Palace scandals are scarcely edifying,” remarked Sir Dugald, to whom Mr Hicks had all along been addressing himself.

“Probably not, General; but they are often important, and there is an outside circumstance that complicates this one. From your point of view it was slightly unfortunate that an envoy should turn up a week or two ago with presents and offers of alliance from Scythia and Neustria. I guess those two States are hunting in couples. It’s not the first time they’ve done it, and they generally make a good thing out of it. Does this alter your way of looking at things at all, General?”

“Not at all,” returned Sir Dugald, placidly.

“Now come, General,” said Mr Hicks, leaning forward and extending a long forefinger to tap Sir Dugald on the knee, “you and I are both white men. We understand each other. I can put you up to circumventing this Scythian cuss if you will only show an accommodating spirit.”

“Really,” said Sir Dugald, “I am deeply obliged; but until her Majesty is pleased to appoint me a colleague I have an invincible objection to sharing my duties with any one. I cannot sufficiently admire your disinterested and public-spirited offer of co-operation, Mr Hicks, but this prejudice of mine—foolish and incomprehensible as it must no doubt appear to you—prevents my accepting it.”

“Think of your reputation, General,” urged Mr Hicks, sadly. “I give you my word I had sooner write the story of a successful mission than an unsuccessful one any day. We newspaper men have a way of finding out things which you diplomatic gentlemen never hear of, and I can help you through with your work and cover you with glory as well. You’ll take it?”

“No, thank you,” returned Sir Dugald. “It is all prejudice, of course, but somehow I had rather not.”

“There are just a few people left in the world who prefer honour to glory,” cried Georgia her eyes flashing.

“What an unkind remark, Miss Keeling!” said Sir Dugald. “You will really wound my feelings if you impute motives to me in that reckless way. Well, Mr Hicks, I hope we shall see more of you. Lady Haigh is always at home on Friday afternoons, and if you care to drop in to tiffin any day we shall be delighted to see you.”

Mr Hicks had not been intending to depart so early, but at this intimation he rose reluctantly and took his leave. North and Stratford escorted him to the door, and when they had returned to the terrace a sense of constraint seemed to fall upon those present. Sir Dugald’s impassive face told nothing, and his eyes were fixed on a distant point of light in the city. He was the only one of the party who recognised the full importance of the piece of news which had just been announced, but all perceived more or less distinctly that the enterprise on which they were bound had received a check. It was Georgia who broke the silence at last.

“Sir Dugald,” she said, boldly, “won’t you say something? We couldn’t help being here and hearing what that man said, and we should like to know what you really think, just to hear what we have to expect.”

“I have never pretended to be a prophet,” said Sir Dugald, looking round with a half-smile, “and I fear I am not much in the habit of stating publicly what I really think. Still, after what has happened to-night, I will say that our task is certainly very much complicated by what our American friend has told us, though I see no reason for wailing over it as impossible. Palace revolutions are tolerably frequent in these countries, and Rustam Khan may be in favour again to-morrow. Of course the news about the Scythian agent is bad, but we do not hear that any treaty has been concluded, and we are now on the spot. If the people are reasonably well affected towards us, or are even keeping an open mind, the advantages we can offer ought to convince them that it is to their interest to make friends of us. They appeared friendly enough this morning.”

“Hicks told us at the door,” said Dick, “that the King and his Amirs were very much divided in opinion, some of them advocating the alliance with us, some that with Scythia, and others that the old position of isolation should be maintained. The worst of them, he says, is an old fellow called the Amir Jahan Beg, who is Rustam Khan’s father-in-law. ‘He is the deadest-headed old reactionary I ever saw,’ Hicks said. ‘All the other fellows turn round in the street to look after me and show a little interest, but this old cuss rides right on and takes no notice. The other day I sent my servant to negotiate an interview, and all the answer I got was that the door was shut.’”

“Rather good, that, for Jahan Beg,” remarked Stratford.

“But if he is Rustam Khan’s father-in-law he may persuade him to take sides against us,” said Dr Headlam.

“We can do nothing until we see how the land lies,” said Sir Dugald. “To-morrow, when the King receives us for the first time, we shall get some idea of his attitude towards us, and we can take steps accordingly. There is only one thing that I must specially impress upon you, gentlemen: be careful when you are in company with Hicks. Even after his failure to-night I haven’t a doubt that we shall see a good deal of him. I invited him to come here now and then because I thought we should be acquainted with his movements occasionally, at any rate, and he accepted the invitation as likely to give him a means of finding out what we are doing. Of course he will bribe the servants here and at the Palace to bring him news; but he will certainly not neglect us. Therefore be careful what you say. I don’t want to misjudge the man, but he might not be above the temptation of taking steps to secure the fulfilment of his prophecy as to the failure of the Mission. In any case he might do a great deal of harm by sending home exaggerated or distorted reports of what had actually occurred. General conversation is the safest—no private talks. I would not answer even for you, Stratford, in the hands of a ‘Crier’ interviewer, although you are a past-master in the art of mystification. Even if you said nothing, that is not necessarily a barrier to his crediting you with a long oration. There is safety in numbers, for he could not derive much political capital from a conversation held in the presence of the whole Mission. Our policy is to show a united front.”

“If only that wretched man had never come to Kubbet-ul-Haj to spoil everything!” said Lady Haigh, somewhat ungratefully, it must be confessed, in view of the information imparted by Mr Hicks.

“Oh, don’t abuse him,” said Sir Dugald. “It is his business.”

CHAPTER VII.
THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED.

The day following had been appointed by the King for the state reception of the Mission, and Sir Dugald and his staff left headquarters early for the Palace, each man arrayed in the most gorgeous garments in his possession. The occasion was a purely formal one, consisting chiefly of the presentation of the different members of the Mission to the King by name, followed by a little ceremonial conversation between his Majesty and Sir Dugald. The King’s questions concerned chiefly the personal and family history of Queen Victoria, although he was also interested in the past services of the Envoy himself. It was not considered correct for Sir Dugald to originate any remarks, when once the courteous messages with which he had been charged by his Government were delivered, and conversation did not flow very freely, although, thanks to the necessity for interpreting everything that was said, the time was fairly well filled up. The King was obviously ill at ease, asking every now and then sudden questions as to the object of the Mission, and the intention of the Government in sending it, with the evident aim of disconcerting Sir Dugald. But the shrewd dark eyes scanned the face of the Envoy in vain for any signs of confusion or surprise, and his tranquil and unhurried manner seemed gradually to disarm the King’s suspicions. For Sir Dugald to succeed in maintaining his air of careless calm was no slight triumph under the circumstances, since he noticed many things which assured him of the correctness of the information given by Mr Hicks. Rustam Khan was nowhere to be seen; but the little Antar Khan, a boy of about eleven, robed in bright blue satin and decked with jewels, occupied a seat at his father’s side, and was allowed to interpolate remarks of his own into the conversation in a way that showed him to be high in favour. Moreover, the King made no allusion to the eager request he had sent to England for a lady doctor who might examine his wife’s eyes, and it seemed as though Georgia’s journey to Kubbet-ul-Haj would be useless, since she could not visit the royal harem without an invitation. The Amirs who stood round the throne appeared interested in all that passed, but their faces expressed no conspicuously friendly feeling; while one of their number, whom the staff identified at once with the Jahan Beg described by Mr Hicks, showed himself ostentatiously inattentive to all that went on. Still, when the members of the Mission left the Palace and returned to their headquarters to reassure the anxious hearts of Lady Haigh and Georgia, they were able to suggest some reasons for hopefulness. At any rate, the Mission had been graciously received, and that at once, and the King seemed to be in a state of suspended judgment, rather than of settled hostility, while no parade had been made of the presence of the Scythian envoy in the city.

Once more the party at the Mission met on the terrace after dinner to discuss coffee and things in general, and once again Chanda Lal interrupted the harmony of the group. Stratford was in the midst of a description of some political crisis which had occurred at Czarigrad during his residence there, when the bearer mounted the steps and made his way noiselessly to Sir Dugald’s side.

“Highness, in the court there is an old man wrapped in a mantle, who wishes to see you. He says he is the Amir Jahan Beg.”

Low as were Chanda Lal’s tones, the rest of the party heard the words, and a thrill of excitement ran through them. Why should this notoriously anti-foreign ruler come disguised and under cover of night to see Sir Dugald? Surely the situation promised fresh developments? But Sir Dugald was neither flattered nor interested.

“This is beyond endurance!” he exclaimed, wrathfully. “It was bad enough to be disturbed in the evening by that American fellow; but for a native it is a little too much! The door is shut, bearer.”

“I bring a message to the Queen of England’s Envoy from Rustam Khan,” said a crisp, penetrating voice in Ethiopian; and the startled hearers turned to see an elderly man with a grey beard standing on the steps behind them, his head and shoulders still shrouded in his cloak. “Let the Envoy bid the servant depart and I will do my errand.”

“You can go, bearer,” said Sir Dugald. “By the bye, we shall want Mr Kustendjian,” he added, and rose to call back Chanda Lal, but the stranger stepped before him, and laid a hand upon his arm.

“There is no need of an interpreter,” said Jahan Beg in English. “Haigh—Dugald Haigh—have you forgotten me?”

“Good heavens!” cried Sir Dugald, stepping back. “Can it be possible? You are John Bigg—the man who disappeared?”

“Exactly,” said Jahan Beg. “The man who disappeared, and made a nine days’ wonder for his friends at Tajpur, every one of whom had a separate discreditable theory to account for his disappearance.”

“That was quite unnecessary,” returned Sir Dugald, “for any one who knew you and knew Beatrice Wynn.”

“As you did? Well—by the bye, what has become of Beatrice Wynn?”

“Dead, years ago. Typhoid—in Assam somewhere.”

“And for years I have been dead in Ethiopia. Young men”—he turned suddenly to the staff, who had been endeavouring, with indifferent success, to get up an interest in conversation among themselves—“let me give you a warning. Never throw up everything for a woman’s sake. Never spoil your lives because you have been disappointed in love. There is not a woman on earth that’s worth it.”

“Present company always excepted, of course,” said Fitz, with a bow to Lady Haigh and Georgia. Jahan Beg looked at him with a grim smile.

“No woman will ever spoil your life,” he said, “though I don’t necessarily think the better of you for that. As for the rest of you, you are beyond the impressionable age, I think. You begin to see that there is something else to live for besides love. I was twenty-three when I threw aside as good prospects under the Public Works Department as a man need want, and cut myself off from my friends and my country, and all for the sake of a woman who had never cared a scrap for me. She was only amusing herself with me for a while—it’s a way they have. I can see now that she painted and dyed, and that she was years older than I was—she was a widow—but I didn’t see it then. I thought her as beautiful as an angel, and as good—heavens! how I did believe in that woman—and when she married the Commissioner, I chucked everything and left.”

“Leaving your friends to get your servants brought into court on suspicion of having made away with you, and your enemies to look for discrepancies in your accounts,” said Sir Dugald.

“It was all a long time ago; but I hope no one was hanged,” said Jahan Beg.

“No; there was no possible evidence against any of the servants, and people began to talk of suicide, and to accuse the fair Beatrice under their breath of driving you to desperation. In self-defence she let it become known that your last letter to her had talked much of going to the dogs and of a ruined life, but had contained no threats. Then public opinion veered round again to a certain extent; but the Commissioner accepted another post before very long.”

“And for that woman’s sake,” said Jahan Beg, fiercely, “I have lost everything. It is enough to make a man’s blood boil, Haigh. I am an alien and a renegade all the rest of my days on account of a woman for whom I have not now even a kindly thought.”

“We have all made fools of ourselves at one time or another,” said Sir Dugald, soothingly. “You have paid heavily enough for that madness of yours, Bigg, and now you can come back with us when we leave this place and get into the world again.”

“Not quite. I have given hostages to fortune, you see.”

“What? Oh, you have married a native?”

“Yes. My wife is the King’s cousin. She was a widow when I married her, and very rich—for this part of the world. She showed a slight disposition to exact a very rigid etiquette at first—expected me not to sit down in her presence without being invited, and so on, which might have led to friction if I had not explained my views clearly at once. We have never quarrelled since, and we never interfere with one another.”

“You have no children?” asked Lady Haigh.

“I have one daughter. She is married to Rustam Khan.”

“An English girl married to a native?” cried Georgia.

“She is only half English, at any rate.”

“But isn’t Rustam Khan a Mohammedan?”

“Of course; so is she, so is my wife, so am I—in so far as I am anything. I told you that I was a renegade, and now you know the worst of me.”

“But how did you find your way here, Bigg?” asked Sir Dugald, while Georgia was silent in dismay.

“You know I was always fond of disguising myself and going about among the natives. Well, when I left Tajpur I made up my mind to wander about for a time as a fakir, and at last I got into Khemistan. Things were not so settled there then as they are now; St George Keeling was hard at work pacifying the country. I fell among thieves—that is, among the hillmen—who would not believe me when I said I was an Englishman, but were afraid to kill me lest it should turn out to be true after all. They compromised matters by making me a slave, and gave me a wretched time of it. At last the Ethiopians made a raid upon their villages, and I was so glad to see the tables turned that I joined the invaders, and helped them to get possession of the various strongholds. The hillmen were wiped out, and when the fighting was over the Ethiopians thought of me. They never imagined I was an Englishman, and I didn’t tell them. Well—I may as well make a clean breast of it—they offered me lands, and so on, and a command in their army if I would turn Mohammedan, thinking that I was an idolater, like the hillmen, and I had had time to recover a little from the knockdown blow Beatrice gave me, and life seemed worth living again, and I consented. It’s a sordid affair enough, you see—just a bartering of one’s conscience against life and wealth—and it was not worth it. I have tried it, and I have come to the conclusion that one’s wretched life is a poor exchange for country and religion. Another warning for you, young men.”

“Then you rose to power after all?” said Sir Dugald.

“I did. It doesn’t sound a moral arrangement—to any one who only looks on the surface. My lands lie near the frontier of the Scythian sphere of influence, and before my day they were always liable to incursions from the tribes under Scythian protection. I put a stop to that, and my fame spread. One Ethiopian chief after another made alliance with me, until I was at the head of a confederation extending all along that frontier. Then it was that the King acknowledged my power. Old Fath-ud-Din, who had taken a dislike to me from the very first, pointed out to him that the position I had built up for myself was a menace to the throne. Consequently his advice was that I should be summoned to Court and quietly put out of the way. Fortunately for me, however, the King took some one else’s advice that time. He knew that I was the only man that could hold that frontier, and he preferred to consolidate my power and attach my interests to his own by offering me his cousin’s hand. I knew better than to refuse, and from that time I became generally known as the Amir Jahan Beg, one of the pillars of the state. At least I can say that I have done my best for my district. The people are better governed there than anywhere else in the kingdom, and the chiefs under me have taken to copying some of my ways. That is something, but I can’t pretend that the game is worth the candle. I used to feel it more than I do now, especially when my daughter was a child. There was so much that was English about her that it nearly broke my heart to think of her growing up and leading the life of an Ethiopian woman. I used to plan to take her with me and make a dash for liberty through Scythian territory, but it seemed mean to go away and leave my wife, and I shouldn’t have known what to do with her if I had got her to come too. Then Rustam Khan, who was a delicate boy, and pined in the city, came to live with us, and I grew as fond of him as if he had been my own son. He is the only person here who knows that I am an Englishman, but I have taught him a little English, and we talk it together sometimes. When he grew up, he wished to marry my daughter, and though I knew it would make Fath-ud-Din and all his crew my open enemies, instead of merely my ill-wishers, I could not refuse him, for he promised to take no other wife if I would give her to him.”

“Then is that the origin of the rivalry between Rustam Khan and Fath-ud-Din?” asked Sir Dugald.

“No, it has merely aggravated it. Rustam Khan is the son of the King’s first wife, but Antar Khan’s mother, the Vizier’s sister, has royal blood in her veins through her mother, and no one can decide which of the two sons has the best right to succeed. Consequently the King gives them each a turn of favour, and plays them off one against the other, to prevent either of them from forming a party. Just now, Antar Khan, which of course means Fath-ud-Din, is uppermost.”

“And that bears seriously on our position here?”

“It does; for Rustam Khan is the strongest advocate of the English alliance, while Fath-ud-Din, out of pure contrariness, has fanned the hopes of the Scythians. There is a wretched Jew fellow, supposed to have been intrusted by the Scythian and Neustrian Governments with a secret mission, in the town now, but he is kept in the background until the King has made up his mind about you. Whatever Fath-ud-Din can do against you he will, you may depend upon that, and he is all-powerful just now. Rustam Khan finds it advisable to remain at home and pretend to be ill. He would have come to see you before this if he had only had himself to please, but he knows that his visit would be at once represented as part of a plot to dethrone his father and place himself on the throne. Even I have to be careful. Naturally I have spoken in favour of the English alliance, and joined with Rustam Khan in doing all I could to further it, but Fath-ud-Din has begun to smell a rat. He can’t dream that I am an Englishman, but I believe he thinks I have been in British territory and brought dangerous ideas into Ethiopia with me, and he would ruin me if he could. That is why I am bound, while supporting the object of your Mission here, to appear indifferent or even hostile to yourselves personally, and why I dare not be seen coming to your house. There is a horrible Yankee journalist about the place—have you come across him yet?—who tried to draw me, but I put on the very haughtiest oriental airs, and sent him away with a flea in his ear. I dare say he means me no harm personally, but I know he is very thick with Fath-ud-Din, and that is enough for me. He has not got much change out of Jahan Beg.”

“Mr Hicks has already presented himself here,” said Sir Dugald. “What with him, and Fath-ud-Din, and the Neustro-Scythian agent, and your precarious position in the country, Bigg, it would appear to a Western mind that our prospects of success were rather cloudy.”

“I will do what I can to help you,” returned Jahan Beg; “secretly, of course. In public you must expect to find me slightly troublesome in weighing your proposals, and rigid in exacting the full pound of flesh and an ounce or two extra; but such hints as I can give you privately I will. Don’t tell me what your instructions are; I don’t want to know them. I only say, don’t insist on the reception of a permanent British resident with an escort at Kubbet-ul-Haj, for you won’t get it, and you will be playing into the hands of Scythia. The Jew agent has assured the King already that you are sure to make that demand, and that such an arrangement would be the first step towards annexing the kingdom. If you must be represented here, stand out for a Consul-General at Iskandarbagh, the big town you passed just after crossing the frontier, with a native Vakil at the capital. Then don’t demand any territory. The Scythians have damaged their case already by hinting at a rectification of frontier. A reciprocal commercial treaty you are empowered to conclude, I suppose; but you must agree that no foreigner shall enter Ethiopia without the King’s passport. There will be difficulties, too, about the legal status of foreigners——”

“Excuse me, Bigg, but would you not prefer to discuss these things with me in the office? They are a little technical to form an evening entertainment for the ladies. Mr Stratford, perhaps you will kindly accompany us?”

“The ladies must excuse me, remembering that it is a long-desired relief to talk English once more to any one who can understand it properly. You have not presented me to your wife, Haigh.”

Sir Dugald performed the ceremony briefly, and then introduced the guest to Georgia, explaining that she was St George Keeling’s daughter.

“And you are the lady doctor?” said Jahan Beg. “I have one thing to ask of you, Miss Keeling. It is possible that at the Palace you may see my daughter, Nur Jahan, Rustam Khan’s wife. Have pity upon her, and don’t make her discontented with her life. She must stay here all her days, and she is happy with her husband and her baby. You need not describe to her English life and the Christian position of women, and all those other luxuries of civilisation of which you are the culminating product, need you? It could do no possible good, and it certainly would do a great deal of harm, for things of that kind are absolutely unattainable here.”

“I will try not to put new ideas into her head, if they would only make her unhappy,” said Georgia, rather doubtfully; “but surely you have told her about England?”

“I have told her nothing. ‘Where ignorance is bliss’—you know the rest. Although I have married her to a Mohammedan—and roused your indignation by doing so—I did what I could to keep her happy as his wife. She does not know that I am an Englishman, and I have never even taught her English; although for years I used to hold long conversations with myself or with imaginary friends when I was alone, that I might not forget my own language.”

And Jahan Beg went on his way, leaving Georgia oppressed with a sense—which was by no means new to her, but had never made itself felt so clearly as to-night—of the complexity of life. She sat looking out over the Moslem city, and pondering the various problems which the Amir’s words had started in her mind, while Lady Haigh and Fitz settled down to a game of halma, and North carried off Dr Headlam to show him a new kind of locust, which one of the servants had caught and brought to him. The doctor welcomed the discovery with rapture, and conveyed the insect in triumph to his own quarters, while Dick returned to the terrace. Georgia turned to him impulsively as he mounted the steps close beside her.

“What is your opinion of compromises? Can they ever be morally justifiable?”

Now it was more than a month since Dick and Georgia had exchanged any conversation but the merest commonplaces, and Dick was so well satisfied with this state of affairs as to vow to himself every day that he would take care their acquaintance remained on this somewhat restricted footing for the future. Yet although he felt that Georgia had not intentionally appealed to him in preference to any one else, and would have attacked Sir Dugald or Stratford on the subject, if either of them had appeared at the moment, as readily as himself, he sat down near her, and hastily collected his views on the question of compromise.

“It rather depends upon the nature of the compromises, doesn’t it?” he asked—“whether they refer to essentials or non-essentials, I mean. For instance, one’s whole existence is a series of compromises.”

“In the sense in which all social life is a compromise between the demands of the individual and those of the race?” said Georgia. “Yes, but those refer to non-essentials, of course.”

“Non-essentials to the race now; but I dare say they seemed essential enough to the individual at one time. For instance, in the district in India in which I served first, the natives thought it essential to offer human sacrifices every year. Their crops depended upon it, they said. But we have taught them otherwise, and now they compromise matters by sacrificing goats.”

“But that was not really an essential matter; it was only that they thought it so. What I want to know is, how can one tell, in questions of right and wrong, where conciliation ends and compromise begins?”

“That is the office of all great leaders and statesmen, I suppose; to point out a path which shall conciliate as many people, and compromise as few principles, as possible. On the whole, the world is on the side of compromise, I think—when it is called conciliation. The people who object to both the name and the reality generally become martyrs.”

“Martyrs!” said Georgia, slowly. “It is easy enough to say the word; but think what it means!”

“Ah! I see that it is our friend Jahan Beg’s story which has awakened your sudden interest in compromises.”

“Not exactly his story, but what he said to me. It made me wonder whether I had done right in coming here. Perhaps you don’t know that when I agreed to come it was expressly stipulated that I was to make no attempt to introduce Christianity into the King’s household?”

“That seems a very obvious and necessary precaution,” said Dick, delighted to find Georgia talking to him so frankly. “You could do no good, as Jahan Beg said; but you might do a great deal of harm, both to the poor women and to the Mission.”

“But it almost seems to me that I was wrong in reasoning in that way. It is like hiding one’s colours—nearly as bad as doing evil that good may come.”

“Not doing evil, surely, Miss Keeling? As a medical missionary, half your work is concerned with the bodies of your patients. You can do that half still, and you are not forbidden to answer questions if the ladies ask them.”

“But I know they won’t ask me questions of that kind. My Khemistan experiences have shown me that they will only talk about the merest trivialities, or else ask me for poisons.”

“Then it can’t be your fault. At any rate, you will make friends with the ladies, and perhaps the memory of your visit may prepare the way for a regular missionary when the country is opened up later on,” suggested Dick, the fluency of his reasoning astonishing himself.

“I am afraid I looked upon Kubbet-ul-Haj too much as a stepping-stone to Khemistan. I thought perhaps the Government might allow me to settle on the frontier and practise there if I accomplished this business successfully.”

“Well, do you know, I think that was rather a good idea, Miss Keeling. You might even itinerate into Ethiopia if the King was well-disposed towards you, and there could be no mistake as to your status then. But you are not thinking of refusing to treat the poor Queen now that you are here, and leaving her to go on suffering until a lady doctor with a more elastic conscience can be sent out?”

“No, of course not; it would be cruel as well as absurd. Besides, it would be breaking my word. But don’t you ever feel puzzled about your duty, Major North, or afraid that in some particular case you may have acted wrongly?”

“I don’t think so,” returned Dick, meditatively. “Not that I am a very good judge, for things have always been pretty clear for me. I have been under orders a good deal, you know, and then my only business was to obey, and when you are thrown on your own responsibility, you only try to do your duty, and act on the square. You know your father’s motto, Miss Keeling? Two or three of his Khemistan men have told me that he gave it to them when they began to work under him. This was the way it usually went: ‘You are here for the honour of your country and the good of the natives,’ he would say when they joined. ‘Never desert a friend, never disown an agent, never deceive an enemy. You will go on duty to-morrow, and may God bless you.’ I wish I had known him. It is a distinction to have served under such a man.”

“Highness,” said a voice at Dick’s elbow, before Georgia could answer, and they both turned to see Chanda Lal, who had mounted the steps noiselessly with his bare feet, standing beside them, “there is another old man in the court, wrapped up in a mantle, and he says he is the Grand Vizier, Fath-ud-Din. He asks to see the burra sahib, and he will not be turned away.”

“Good gracious!” cried Dick. “We shall have all Kubbet-ul-Haj here before long. It only wants the King and Rustam Khan to make things lively. But if Fath-ud-Din meets Jahan Beg, there’ll be murder done. Miss Keeling, while I go and parley with this old wretch, do you mind warning the Chief to get rid of Jahan Beg? I shouldn’t wonder if we have to let him down through a window into the street behind, for it won’t do for him to pass through the courtyard.”

He ran down the steps, and Georgia hurried to Sir Dugald’s private office, where she found him in earnest confabulation with Jahan Beg. The state of affairs was quickly explained, and Stratford hastened the visitor away to the back of the house. Here, when the new-comer was safely closeted with Sir Dugald, Dick joined him, and together they succeeded in letting Jahan Beg down into the lane, where he alighted softly on a convenient rubbish-heap, and whence he made the best of his way home.

It was not until the rest of the party were thinking of going to bed that Sir Dugald was able to get rid of his visitor and return to the terrace. He smiled grimly as he glanced at the expectant faces which awaited him.

“The worthy Fath-ud-Din has prepared a very pretty little plot,” he said, “which is meant to remove both Jahan Beg and Rustam Khan from his path, and we are expected to help.”

“We shall get into trouble,” remarked Lady Haigh, oracularly, “if all the conspirators in Kubbet-ul-Haj make this house a rendezvous when they want to plot against one another.”

“We shall,” agreed Sir Dugald; “and it is a mystery to me what these good people see in our faces that leads them to think we shall be willing to forward their schemes. I suppose it is only natural that Bigg should wish to utilise us as a means of getting his son-in-law acknowledged as heir to the throne; but I did not expect Fath-ud-Din. It seems that he has for a long time suspected Jahan Beg of being an Englishman, and the suspicion became a certainty yesterday, owing to his ostentatious lack of interest in our entry. Jahan Beg thought that his bearing showed how patriotic an Ethiopian he had become; but Fath-ud-Din argued that such disregard of such a show could only be due to his having often seen similar sights before.”

“I hope you taxed Fath-ud-Din with being an Englishman on the same grounds,” said Lady Haigh.

“Certainly not,” replied Sir Dugald. “You forget that he was ill. His illness may have been diplomatic and momentary; but it has to be accepted as a fact. Well, Hicks supplied the next link in the chain. It seems that Fath-ud-Din granted him the interview which Jahan Beg refused, and in the course of conversation asked him casually what he would think if he heard that a solitary Englishman had lived in Ethiopia disguised for years. Hicks replied, as most men would naturally do, that he should conclude he had done something which had made British territory too hot to hold him, and had run away from fear of the law. That struck Fath-ud-Din as a bright idea, and he came to tell me of his suspicions, and to suggest that I should invite the King to give up Jahan Beg as an escaped criminal. He assured me that he and his party would give me all possible support, which I could well believe; and he let out that he anticipated that Rustam Khan would be involved in his father-in-law’s downfall. That would leave the way clear for Antar Khan, to whom Fath-ud-Din hopes to marry his daughter. A suitable bakhshish was also understood, and in return for these various boons, Fath-ud-Din would be good enough to further the objects of the Mission, and guarantee its success.”

“And I hope you kicked him down the steps?” said Lady Haigh.

“No, Elma; I did not. I should have thought you knew by this time that my disposition was eminently a peaceful one. I merely told Fath-ud-Din that I knew of no criminal answering to the description of Jahan Beg, but that if he could find out what he had done, and it was sufficiently heinous, I would apply for his extradition with pleasure. With that he had to be content, which leaves us a breathing-space.”

“I suppose you will be able to get the treaty concluded while he is hunting about for proofs of Jahan Beg’s guilt?” said Georgia.

“That is what we must hope to do. I was most careful to make everything hinge on his own efforts. It was necessary to avoid like poison anything that might sound like offering him help in his quest, or he would have understood it as a definite pledge to assist him by fair means or foul to ruin Jahan Beg.”

CHAPTER VIII.
EAST MEETS WEST.

In spite of the very moderate encouragement he had received, hope must have told a flattering tale to the Vizier Fath-ud-Din when he left the Residency after his interview with Sir Dugald, for it became evident very soon that the hindrances which had threatened to obstruct the path of the Mission had suddenly been removed. Rustam Khan was restored to a measure of his father’s favour and allowed to appear at Court, besides being permitted to speak in the council on behalf of the English alliance, while the Neustro-Scythian agent found his promises received with unconcealed incredulity, and was tantalised with evasive answers to his demands. Of these changes the party at the Mission were kept informed both by Jahan Beg and by the Vizier himself, the latter losing no opportunity of insisting on the virulence with which his rival was opposing the English proposals, and the eagerness with which he advised the extortion of every possible concession. If it had not been for the explanation given behind the scenes by Jahan Beg himself, it would have been difficult for Sir Dugald to resist the conclusion, towards which Fath-ud-Din laboured continually to urge him, that the Amir’s hatred of his native country was deep-rooted and had a sinister origin; but the Vizier’s object was so apparent that it was fairly easy to distinguish the embroidery which he added to the speeches he professed to report. Jahan Beg’s opposition was all on points of detail, not of principle; and although he would haggle for hours over the rate of an import duty, or the terms on which an imaginary passport was to be granted, Sir Dugald forgave him the worry he caused in consideration of his services in bringing his colleagues and the King to look at matters from a business point of view. It was the Ethiopian idea that the King was the greatest monarch on earth, and that he could settle any trouble that might arise by the simple expedient of ordering the heads of the disturbers of the peace to be brought him, and it was difficult at first to wean the people, and especially the Amirs who formed the royal council, from this mediæval way of looking at things. In spite of Jahan Beg’s invaluable help in this respect, however, Sir Dugald did his best more than once to induce him to abandon his simulated policy of obstruction and support the Mission heartily, reminding him that he could not now deceive Fath-ud-Din, who knew him to be an Englishman. But Jahan Beg remained obdurate, declaring that if his proceedings did not blind Fath-ud-Din, at least they continued to deceive the rest of the Amirs, who would at once suspect him of having been bribed by the English should he appear to be suddenly converted to a warm interest in the treaty; while the Vizier himself, having already concealed for some time the fact which had come to his knowledge, was bound still to keep it secret, lest he should be punished for not revealing it before.

In consequence of Jahan Beg’s educational work, and Fath-ud-Din’s unexpected complaisance, Sir Dugald and the staff betook themselves day after day to the Palace, and were conducted at once to the King’s hall of audience. Here seats of rather an uncomfortable and nondescript character were arranged for them, for the camp-chairs they had brought with them were the only chairs in Kubbet-ul-Haj, or possibly in all Ethiopia, and a laboured conversation took place. When the King had satisfied a portion of his curiosity respecting men and things in England and Khemistan, Sir Dugald would contrive to lead the talk round to the more important matters in hand, and in this way the various clauses of the proposed treaty were discussed in turn, notes of the proceedings being taken in Ethiopian by the King’s scribe and the interpreter Kustendjian, and in English by Fitz Anstruther. When the Englishmen had taken their departure, the points touched upon would be discussed afresh by the King and the Amirs, and if no satisfactory conclusion had been reached, they reappeared the next morning with great regularity, while if all was well, the discussion moved on to a fresh stage.

In this way time passed not unpleasantly, varied with a certain amount of incident, so far as regarded Sir Dugald and his staff; but for the ladies it was at first very different. True, they had their own terrace, where they could go about unveiled, and their own courtyard in which to take exercise. When Georgia was in a cheerful frame of mind she called this court her quarter-deck; when she was feeling depressed she alluded to it as her prison-yard,—and here she paced along during the cooler hours of each day until Sir Dugald told her that her feet would wear a path in the stones. Sometimes, when public business prevented the King from receiving the Mission, its members would escort the ladies for a ride, but it was necessary to choose secluded tracks for these excursions, since public opinion in Kubbet-ul-Haj did not permit women to ride with men, unless simply for protection on a journey.

But when the Mission had spent about a month in the city, there came a change for Georgia. By way of propitiating Sir Dugald, who was beginning to wax exceedingly wrathful over the King’s ostentatious forgetfulness of the urgent request he had made for a lady doctor, Fath-ud-Din ventured to remind his august master of Miss Keeling’s existence, and her presence at his desire in Kubbet-ul-Haj. The King happened to be in a good temper at the moment, or perhaps his conscience had been pricking him for his neglect of Rustam Khan’s unfortunate mother, and the result of the reminder was the arrival at the Mission one morning of a covered litter carried by four men, and accompanied by an escort of cavalry, at the head of which rode a gorgeous negro, who brought the intimation that the doctor lady was requested to wait on the Queen.

That was only the first of many days on which Georgia ensconced herself in the litter with her maid Rahah, and with the curtains closely drawn was borne off to the Palace. A very short preliminary examination convinced her that the Queen was suffering from cataract in both eyes, and that an operation was absolutely necessary. But the matter did not appear by any means of so simple a character to the dwellers in the harem. Even when, with the aid of the Khemistani girl, Georgia had succeeded in getting things explained, in highly colloquial Ethiopian, to the Queen and her attendants, she found that they all shrank with horror from the idea of the operation. It was not merely that they distrusted herself, as an alien both in race and religion, but they were strongly of the opinion that whereas the use of any amount of medicine, the nastier the better, was lawful in cases of disease, the employment of the knife to give relief was a blasphemous interference with the designs of Providence. In vain Georgia told of the wonderful instances of recovery, following on operations such as she intended to perform, which had come within her own experience; it was Rahah who at last placed the question before the Queen in a way that appealed to her. Whatever happened was incontrovertibly due to the decrees of fate: if it was fated that the Queen should be blind, blind she would continue to be; but if the operation proved successful, it would be clear evidence that she was not fated to be blind. Influenced by Rahah’s logic, the Queen consented, with great reluctance, to allow the matter to be referred to her husband; and the next day Georgia, with Rahah as interpreter, held a colloquy on the subject with the King, through a grating which effectually precluded either party from gaining a glimpse of the other. The King was not so easily moved by Rahah’s eloquence as his wife had been, but eventually a compromise was agreed upon. It was evident to Georgia that, owing both to fright and to the sorrows of the past few months, the Queen was in no state for the operation to be performed at present. Some delay was therefore inevitable, and the King was at last brought to consent to the trial of the plan, if a week or two of careful diet and nursing, together with cheerful society and the blessing of hopefulness, should prove to have a beneficial effect on the patient’s general health.

It seemed to Georgia that, in view of the state of things in the Palace, each portion of the prescription was more unattainable than the rest; but after two or three days of vain endeavours to instruct the shiftless harem servants in the arts of nursing and of invalid cookery, and to restore tone to the mind of the poor Queen, weakened and saddened as it was by years of sorrow, she found a new ally at her side. Coming into the Queen’s room one day, she saw seated on the divan a tall girl with a fresh English face, blue-eyed and fair-haired, holding a closely-swathed baby in her arms. Although the stranger wore the Ethiopian dress, Georgia would have greeted her at once as a fellow-countrywoman, if she had not turned and stared at her with undisguised interest and pleasure, saying something in Ethiopian to the Queen. Then a great pang of pity seized Georgia’s heart, for she knew that the English girl before her must be Nur Jahan, Jahan Beg’s daughter and Rustam Khan’s wife.

Remembering her promise to Nur Jahan’s father, however, Georgia composed her face and took her usual seat beside her patient. The Queen was so much more cheerful this morning, that it was evident she enjoyed the presence of her daughter-in-law and grandson; and after a while, to Georgia’s delight, she brightened visibly at Nur Jahan’s suggestion that, when the operation had been successfully performed, she would be able to see the baby. When the medical examination was over, the young wife felt herself at liberty to talk, and Georgia learnt that, although she had now come for a few days to the Palace solely for the purpose of cheering her mother-in-law, she had not quitted it very long. When Rustam Khan fell into disfavour, he had put his wife and her week-old baby under his mother’s protection at once, fearing that neither his house nor that of Jahan Beg would be safe from the rabble of the city, who were warm partisans of Fath-ud-Din. With high glee, Nur Jahan narrated how her husband had come to visit her in secret, always at hours when the King was not likely to enter the harem, disguised sometimes as a woman and sometimes as a negro, in order to escape the Vizier’s spies; and how once he had actually met his father outside the Queen’s door, but stepping aside respectfully, had passed him without being recognised under the thick veil. To Georgia, the possibility of such adventures within the sacred walls of the harem was a new thing, and she enjoyed the gusto with which Nur Jahan related them. But the Queen thought differently, and began to moan feebly, as she pulled at the edge of the coverlet.

“Thou art always thus, Nur Jahan,” she said, querulously; “laughing and rejoicing when thy lord is in peril of his life. An Ethiopian woman, seeing her husband in such straits, would have shed an ocean of tears, and refused to be comforted until times had changed; but I have seen thee, when Rustam Khan had but just gone from thee, planning eagerly how he should enter the Palace on the next occasion, without letting fall a tear.”

“But it was that which pleased my lord, O my mother,” said Nur Jahan, eager to defend herself. “What delight had there been in our meetings, if I had only sat at his feet and bedewed them with tears? There was so much to tell, and so much to hear; how could I weep when my lord was with me? And when he was gone, was it not happier for me to consider how I might see him again, rather than weep because he could not be with me still?”

“Go thy ways, Nur Jahan,” said the elder woman, bitterly. “Thou too wilt one day learn that although the life of all women is sad, that of a woman who is also a king’s wife is saddest of all. How canst thou love thy lord as I, his mother, love him? Thine eyes are as bright as when he married thee, while mine are blind with weeping for him. But he loves the bright eyes better than the blind ones, and is it to be wondered at?” and the Queen rocked herself to and fro, and wailed hopelessly.

“O my mother, wilt thou break my heart?” sobbed Nur Jahan, throwing herself down beside her. “Can we not both love my lord? I know well that thy love for him has lasted longer, but must it needs be greater than mine? My lord’s love is my life, and yet thou wilt not believe it because I do not always weep when I am sad. O doctor lady, dost thou not believe that I love my lord?”

“What does the doctor lady know of it?” demanded the Queen. “But thou art my son’s beloved, Nur Jahan, and for that I love thee also. But I would thou wert as we are. Thou art of the idolaters through thy father, and thou dost not grow like us. But thy life is like ours, and, as years pass on, it will be more and more like mine, and if thou dost not weep then, what wilt thou do? Those who do not weep go mad.”

It was evident to Georgia that Nur Jahan was comforting herself with the thought that her husband was very unlike his father, while the Queen expected that in course of time he would exactly resemble him; but she saw that the excitement was bad for her patient, and interposed prosaically, with a suggestion as to the preparation of beef-tea, which Nur Jahan took up at once, displaying practical powers which encouraged Georgia to give her a first lesson in home nursing. But in spite of this cheering fact, Georgia’s heart still ached as she was carried back to the Mission in her litter, for she could not forget the contrast between the girlish form of Nur Jahan and the bowed and broken figure of the old Queen, who seemed so sure that her daughter-in-law’s life must one day come to resemble her own. But there was a trait in Nur Jahan’s character which had no part in that of the Queen, and which would go far to render her lot even harder—the adventurous spirit which her mother-in-law so bitterly resented, and which had caused her to find a certain enjoyment in the shifts and devices to which her husband had been obliged to have recourse in order to see her.

“Jahan Beg ought to have escaped from the country and brought her to England, as he thought of doing,” was Georgia’s mental comment. “It is his spirit she inherits, and it is cruel of him to rest satisfied with the life to which he has condemned her. She is ready to welcome any excitement, even of a disagreeable kind, as a relief to the monotony of her existence. I can see that she is pining for outside interests, though she doesn’t know it. In a man of English blood this would seem quite natural and proper to every one, and why should it be different for a woman? And what a life it is to which she has to look forward! Even if Rustam Khan keeps his promise and marries no other wife, she can only spend her days in doing nothing. Nothing to do for husband or children, in the house or outside, and to be surrounded by a number of other women as idle as herself! ‘Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.’ I had rather have my thirty-two years of life than the poor Queen’s fifty, queen and wife and mother though she is. Her only advantage in being Queen is that she must not do the little pieces of work which would have fallen to her in another position. As a wife she has to share her husband with an indefinite number of other women, and as a mother she sees her sons treated like Rustam Khan, and her daughters condemned to the same kind of life as herself. Perhaps Nur Jahan’s children may inherit enough of her character to enable them to break the spell; but I am afraid the change won’t come in her time. The East moves so slowly.”

Since Georgia’s thoughts had been so deeply stirred on this subject, it was not wonderful that she communicated her views to Dick when they happened to be talking on the terrace that evening. She felt it a necessity to share her reflections with some one, and to her surprise he received them with unwonted meekness.

“Kipling doesn’t agree with you,” was all he said in answer to her estimate of the probable happiness of the Eastern as compared with that of the Western woman.

“Kipling!” said Georgia, in high scorn.

“I thought you admired him?”

“So I do. I think he is an excellent authority on men—at least, the men seem to find it so—but what can he, or any man, know about women? At best they can only see results and guess at causes. They observe very carefully all that they can see, and give us the result of their observations in knowing little remarks, half cynical and half patronising, and think they have gauged a woman’s nature to its very depths. Then she does something that throws all their calculations wrong, and they say that she is shallow and fickle, and, above all, unwomanly; whereas it is only that either their observations or their deductions were incorrect.”

“Still,” said Dick, “I am inclined to agree with a very comforting doctrine I heard you enunciating to Stratford the other night. You were speaking of the principle of balance, and you said that when one side of the truth had been exclusively insisted upon for a time the pendulum swung back and the other side became prominent until it was the first one’s turn again. I thought it was a very good idea—for the people who can keep just in the middle. Those who rush to either extreme must find themselves rather left when the pendulum swings.”

“But what has that to do with our present subject?” asked Georgia.

“It seems to me to apply. You see, the New—I beg your pardon; I know you dislike the term—the modern female has had rather a long innings lately. You have often said that you don’t agree with all her developments, which seems pretty clear proof that she has at any rate approached the extreme point. Well, Kipling comes to show us the other side of the matter, exaggerated, perhaps; but that is unavoidable, owing to the exaggerations on the lady’s part. At least, that is how it strikes me.”

“North, where are you?” said Stratford, appearing suddenly on the terrace. “The Chief wants you for something.”

Dick rose and disappeared, with an apology to Georgia, who leaned back in her chair and smiled.

“He is improving wonderfully,” she said to herself. “Two months ago he would never have talked as he has to-night. Crushing assertions without any proof used to be his idea of arguments. He must have taken a lesson from Mr Stratford. Was he really listening all the time I was talking to him the other night? He has certainly changed very much, and I am very glad of it. It would have been most unpleasant if the only man who could not bring himself to be civil to me was such an old friend, and Mab’s brother.”

If Mabel could have heard this soliloquy, it is probable that she would have smiled darkly to herself, and remarked that her dear Georgie must have been considerably piqued by Dick’s cavalier behaviour for her to make such a point of having overcome his opposition to herself. However, there was no one at hand to point out to Georgia that she felt more satisfaction in one amicable conversation with her former lover than in all the attentions of Stratford and the doctor, who entertained no prejudice against medical women, and always appreciated the honour of a talk with her. It may be that it was merely the feeling that she had been victorious in disarming Dick’s hostility which gave such a zest to her intercourse with him; but if this was so, an incident which occurred a few days later ought to have cast some additional light upon the subject.

Matters had been going very smoothly at the Palace of late, and Sir Dugald had the satisfaction of knowing that all the clauses of the projected treaty had been in substance agreed to. It now only remained to draw it up in formal shape, and to ratify it by the signatures, or rather seals, of the contracting parties. While the draughtsmen on both sides were busy reducing the notes taken during Sir Dugald’s audiences of the King into suitably involved phraseology, the members of the Mission enjoyed a short holiday. They made several expeditions into the districts lying around the city, and one day the King invited the gentlemen of the party to visit a summer-palace which he had erected on a spur of the hills some fifteen miles away. Mr Hicks, who had remained doggedly at his post in spite of the rebuff he had received, and contrived to glean sufficient news from his talks with Fath-ud-Din and the gossip of the Mission servants to fill the requisite number of columns per week for his paper when supplemented by his own lively imagination, was to be of the party, and the younger men anticipated some amusement in baffling his insatiable curiosity. They rode off in high spirits, the outward expression of which was modified in deference to Sir Dugald, to whom the excursion appeared in a light which was anything but pleasurable; and Lady Haigh and Georgia resigned themselves to a long, slow, quiet day. It was not one of the days on which Georgia visited her patient at the Palace, and therefore Lady Haigh and she wrote up their diaries with great industry, compiled several lengthy descriptive letters for the benefit of friends at home, and filled in odd corners of time with reading and talking. As the afternoon wore on, Lady Haigh went to remind the cook to make a particular kind of cake, likely to be appreciated after a long, dusty ride, for tea, and Georgia was left alone on the terrace.

As she sat there reading, the noise of horses’ feet in the outer court came to her ears, and she dropped her book, wondering whether the party had already returned. Presently Fitz Anstruther made his appearance under the archway which furnished a means of communication between the two courtyards, and catching sight of Georgia on the terrace, hurried towards her, followed by Dr Headlam. Fitz had something in his hand, carefully wrapped up in leaves and tied with wisps of grass, and as he reached the top of the steps he deposited it at Georgia’s feet.

“There, Miss Keeling,” he cried, in high delight, “I’ve got a spotted viper for you, for the collection! He’s a really fine beast; that measly old specimen the doctor got hold of hasn’t a look-in compared with him. See him, now,” and he unrolled the wrappings and displayed, as he said, a remarkably good specimen of the deadliest snake known to Kubbet-ul-Haj. It was only about twenty-seven inches long, but the spots, from which the Mission had given it its hopelessly unscientific name, were unusually brilliant.

“You very nearly had the chance of labelling him as a murderer,” Fitz went on, holding up the snake’s head and examining its fangs with the air of a connoisseur. “He reared up suddenly, just behind North, and had his head stretched out to strike. North was leaning on his elbow on the cushions, and when he saw all the Ethiopians staring at him as pale as death, he turned round. There was no time to move away, and he cut at the thing with his knife and missed. We were eating fruit just then, all smothered in snow from the hills. Stratford had his revolver out in a moment, and was going to fire, but I yelled out to him to stop. I didn’t want the skin spoilt, and I knew that a shot at that distance would smash the head all to smithereens. I had my riding-crop handy, and I jumped up and managed to catch the beast such a whack that it broke his spine or something. Anyhow, he was killed, and I brought him home all the way on purpose for you, Miss Keeling.”

He reared up suddenly, just behind North, and had his head stretched out to strike.

Georgia had turned pale and stepped back a little as Fitz looked up for her approval. Seeing her hesitation, Dr Headlam interposed.

“It really was very neatly done, Miss Keeling, though it was a risky thing, both for Anstruther and North. When I saw the crop come down, I could hardly believe that in his ardour for science Anstruther had not sacrificed North. It was a frightfully near business.”

“Who cares about North?” Fitz wanted to know. “It’s a jolly good specimen, Miss Keeling, and your beast is better than the doctor’s, at any rate. Your collection will take the cake now, I know.”

“Must it be stuffed?” asked Georgia, with unwonted timidity. “I don’t like it. It—it frightens me.”

“Oh, Miss Keeling!” cried Fitz, deeply wounded. But Dr Headlam interposed again.

“I should be pleased to stuff it for you, Miss Keeling; but don’t you think that under the circumstances it would be better to take it home in spirit? It is a new species, so far as we know, and this is quite the finest specimen we have come across, so that some toxicologist might be glad to dissect it. I think we must preserve it in the interests of science.”

“Oh yes, of course, in the interests of science,” said Georgia, unsteadily. “It is really very foolish of me to object to it,” she went on, with a nervous little laugh. “I can stand most creatures, but snakes are such horrible things. It makes me feel quite queer.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Fitz, moved to compunction. “I never thought you mightn’t like it, Miss Keeling. I’ll tell my boy to throw the beast away at once.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” said Georgia, “if Dr Headlam is kind enough to preserve it. You will keep it over at your house with the rest of the things, won’t you, doctor? And you mustn’t think I am not pleased with it, Mr Anstruther. It was most kind and considerate of you to think of me at such an exciting moment, and I shall value the snake always as a memorial of your bravery and coolness,” and Georgia rushed away to her own room, where she threw herself upon the divan and broke into wild peals of laughter. That Fitz should think of saving the snake’s skin whole for her when Dick North’s life was at stake! It was too funny! Georgia laughed till she cried, and Lady Haigh came in and accused her of going into hysterics—an accusation which was vehemently denied—and administered cold water and particularly pungent smelling-salts.

But the snake was duly deposited in a huge bottle of spirit, and, in common with the rest of the collection, became a prominent object in Dr Headlam’s waiting-room. It inspired both awe and interest in the patients, especially after Fitz—who sometimes assisted the doctor in receiving his visitors—had delivered a lecture on the subject.

“I don’t know when I have laughed so much,” said Dr Headlam, telling the story after dinner that evening. “I happened to be a little late in going into the surgery this morning, but when I got near the door I became aware that Anstruther was improving the shining hour in the waiting-room. His discourse sounded so interesting that I lay low just outside and listened. It was delivered in English, helped out with all the Eastern words he knew, but it was so vividly illustrated by gestures that it seemed to have no difficulty in penetrating into the minds of all the patients. ‘These all devils,’ he informed them, pointing to the bottles of specimens; ‘big devils, little devils, all shut up safe. See this one?’ he took down the celebrated snake, which certainly does look rather vicious, coiled up in its bottle. ‘This snake-devil—ghoul—jinni—shaitan; you see? This one, eye-devil,’ pointing to that diseased eye which I removed for a man a fortnight ago, and took such pains to preserve, ‘finger-devil, tongue-devil,’ and so on. ‘Now, you like me to open one of these bottles?’ A delicious shiver of anticipation went through the audience as he took down the snake again. ‘You know what will happen if I throw it down? There will be a great crash, and you will smell the vilest smell you ever smelt in your lives, and you will see—what you will see, and the devil will be loose! Now, one, two, three and——’ but they were all on their knees begging and imploring him not to do it, and I judged it as well to make my appearance at that juncture.”

“You will have the town-boys raiding your diggings and destroying the bottles to see what happens when the devil does get loose,” said Stratford.

“I don’t think so,” returned the doctor. “They are all so frightened that it is as much as I can do now to get them into the same room with the collection. It is as good as a watch-dog to me.”

“Anstruther will have to be careful,” said Sir Dugald, with an approach to a frown. “We don’t want our characters blackened by any suspicion of dealings with infernal powers. I rather wish you had broken one of the bottles before them, doctor, to convince them that it was a joke.”

“Rather it would have convinced them that I was letting out a pestilence on the country,” said the doctor; “and they would simply have gone away and died of fright, which would be clear proof that I was their murderer. I think we are safer with the bottles unbroken.”

“I never like fooling about with supernatural nonsense in these countries,” said Sir Dugald. “It gives the people a handle, and they are not likely to be slow in taking it. As we four are alone together, I may give you a hint that I expect trouble before long. Things have been going too smoothly of late, and Kustendjian tells me that Hicks said to him yesterday, ‘Your old man has squared Fath-ud-Din nicely up to now; but what will he do when the bill comes in? He ought to know by this time that the man who calls for the drinks pays.’ I cannot flatter myself, unfortunately, that I have squared Fath-ud-Din; but if he considers that I have attempted to do it, it is quite on the cards that he will send in his bill. We can refuse payment, of course; but I am afraid that will not better our position very much.”

The justice of Sir Dugald’s words was recognised a little later, after another mysterious evening visit from Fath-ud-Din. The Vizier came to the Mission because he wished to know when his rival was to be permanently removed from his path. He had done all in his power to smooth the progress of the negotiations; but Sir Dugald had made no attempt to accuse Jahan Beg to the King or to demand his extradition. The answer was simple. Sir Dugald had declared his readiness to demand the surrender of Jahan Beg if it could be proved that he was in exile in consequence of any crime committed on British territory; but not a vestige of evidence that such was the case had been brought forward, and it was impossible to extradite him merely for the sake of pleasing the Grand Vizier. On hearing this, Fath-ud-Din flew into a transport of rage, and, from the words he let fall in his anger, Sir Dugald gathered that he had been expected to be prepared with a case against Jahan Beg, and false witnesses to support it, in return for the Vizier’s help. This was a little too much even for Sir Dugald’s self-control, and, in the few minutes that followed, Fath-ud-Din probably heard a larger number of home-truths, delivered in a cold, judicial voice that was more effective than any amount of shouting, than he had ever done before in his life. Baffled and disappointed, the Minister left the Mission, muttering curses between his teeth, and was observed by Kustendjian to pause outside and shake his fist at the building, and to spit towards the flagstaff on which the Union-jack was wont to be hoisted in the outer courtyard. From which signs the discerning Armenian inferred, as Mr Hicks had done before him, that there was trouble brewing.

CHAPTER IX.
STRAINED RELATIONS.

On the following morning there was no change to be observed in the aspect of the Mission. Only the gentlemen of the party were acquainted with the fact of the Vizier’s sudden declaration of war, and they shared Sir Dugald’s opinion that it would be bad policy to allow Fath-ud-Din to see that his threats had any effect upon their minds. The great gates were therefore opened as usual to allow the customary throng of country-people and other sellers of fresh provisions to enter and hold their market in the outer court, and the flag, hoisted at sunrise, floated proudly from its staff in front of Bachelors’ Buildings.

Fitz Anstruther left the Mission early that morning on an errand of his own. He had set his heart on getting Miss Keeling a Persian kitten in the bazaar, and immediately after disposing of his chota hazri he induced the interpreter to come out with him and assist him in making his purchase, as, although he had succeeded in making an Ethiopian audience understand his scientific lecture, he felt a well-grounded distrust of his own powers of conducting a bargain in the currency of the country. The absence of the two was soon discovered; but although Sir Dugald testified some displeasure when he found that Kustendjian was not at hand to go on with the drafting of the treaty, no anxiety was felt as to their safety, since none of the staff had hesitated to walk or ride about the city without an escort after the first week of their stay there.

It was considered advisable to take no notice of the Vizier’s visit, and to exhibit a readiness to continue the negotiations as before, and therefore Sir Dugald and his staff assembled as usual in what was called the Durbar-hall, a large airy room on the ground-floor of Bachelors’ Buildings. Here they awaited the appearance either of Kustendjian or of an emissary from the Palace, Dr Headlam lingering for a talk before departing to his expectant patients opposite. He had just heaved a sigh and taken up his helmet, preparatory to seeking his own domain, when a distant sound, gradually increasing in volume, broke upon the ears of those in the room. It might have been rolling thunder, or the roar of wild beasts, or the rush of a torrent; but there was no reason why it should be any of these. Sir Dugald raised his head and listened attentively.

“I have heard that in the Mutiny,” he said. “The town is up about something, and they are coming in this direction. Have you all your revolvers here, gentlemen?”

Each man produced his weapon promptly, and Sir Dugald led the way out on the verandah, the whole party holding their breath to listen to the sound. The servants had noticed it also, and were standing about in the courtyard with pale faces, listening intently. Some, as the noise grew nearer, crept back to their own quarters in terror, the rest gathered in a group and looked to their masters for orders.

“Turn all those Ethiopians out,” said Sir Dugald, pointing to the salesmen and women who had been exhibiting their wares in the courtyard, “and shut the gates.”

No further command was needed. The servants obeyed the order zealously, bundling the unhappy country-people out neck and crop, and throwing their possessions after them. But before they could clear the courtyard of the bewildered and terrified crowd there was a fresh commotion at the gateway, and Fitz forced his way in, followed by Kustendjian, and rushed up to Sir Dugald.

“There’s a regular howling mob coming this way, sir!” he cried. “We saw old Fath-ud-Din’s steward, who goes to the Palace with him, and another man, stirring them up against us in the bazaar, and when we came away they followed us, and then chased us. They are saying that we have annexed the country, and that the flag is the sign of it. They mean to tear it down.”

“Ah!” said Sir Dugald, quietly, stepping down from the verandah. “Put your revolvers into your pockets, gentlemen; we won’t use them at present. Fetch your riding-whips, if you please, or a good strong lithe cane, if you have one, any of you. We will not shed blood unless we are driven to it.”

The young men rushed to their quarters for the required weapons, returning to find Sir Dugald standing beside the flagstaff with his revolver in his hand. The confusion at the gate had been increased by the arrival of the mob outside, for they found their entrance impeded not only by the servants who were doing their best to close the doors, but by the mixed multitude of their own people who were in process of being expelled. But the piles of merchandise thrown down or dropped in the gateway made it impossible for the doors to be shut, and Sir Dugald turned to Fitz.

“Go back to the verandah, Mr Anstruther, and blow your whistle to call the servants in. Concentrate them in the front rooms on that floor, and serve out the rifles and ammunition; but, remember, not a shot is to be fired so long as we are out here. It would be the death of all of us. If we are driven in we will bring the flag with us; but until we come, you fire at your peril.”

As Fitz obeyed, and the sound of his whistle rang out clear and shrill, penetrating even the hubbub at the gate, and causing the servants to abandon their futile efforts and turn to run to the house, Sir Dugald addressed his companions.

“Stratford, you are the tallest. Keep your revolver out, and stand by the flagstaff. Shoot down the first man that lays a hand on the halliards. No; on second thoughts I will take that post myself. It is possible that I am a little cooler in the head than you, and it is certain that you are a good deal stronger of arm than I am. Take your places in front of the flag, gentlemen; that’s it. Your business is to let no one pass you. This is not an armed mob; it is just Fath-ud-Din’s badmashes, and sticks and whips ought to keep them back. I needn’t tell you to lay it on well. Never mind how hard you hit.”

“Here they come!” said the doctor; and as the last servant broke out of the crowd by the gate and fled to the house the mob burst in with a roar. They made straight for the flag, but paused and recoiled at the sight of the three younger men with their whips, and Sir Dugald, revolver in hand, leaning idly against the flagstaff.

“Not much pluck in them!” muttered Dick, disgustedly; but as though they had understood the disparaging words, the mob gathered their courage together and came on again. In a moment the younger men found themselves engaged in a furious hand-to-hand encounter, in which fists and whips were opposed to the force of numbers. Fitz declared afterwards that he could hear over all the din of the struggle the sound of the blows as they fell, although the howling of those who received them ought to have drowned the noise. Once or twice Sir Dugald raised his revolver and let it drop again, for in the whole course of the short, sharp fight no one actually got within the ring of defenders, and presently Fitz, exceeding his orders, seized the psychological instant for a most opportune diversion. Besides rifles, he had provided the servants with all the sticks he could muster; and when he saw the mob begin to give way, he led forth half his force to clear the courtyard. Fear of the defenders plainly visible at the windows had hitherto kept the space between the flagstaff and the house free of intruders, and now the sturdy frontiersmen, covered by the rifles of their friends behind, advanced against the foe, laying about them as they came with hearty goodwill. Gradually the mob yielded their ground. Firing they might perhaps have faced, but this extremely unheroic method of fighting disgusted them with the sport. As the defenders closed their ranks and pressed the fugitives harder, the retreat became a rout, nay, a headlong race—an obstacle race—in which every man was eager to save his back from blows. The last remnants of the mob struggled through the gateway at last, and the courtyard was clear, and the honour of the flag maintained, without the shedding of a drop of blood.

“Clear that rubbish away and close the gates,” said Sir Dugald. “We will keep them shut in future, and the people must bring their things to sell in the street outside. That market of theirs nearly did for us to-day.”

Although the non-arrival of any help from the authorities might have led to the conclusion that the riot had been inaudible in other parts of the city, no sooner was it over, and the enemy driven out, than an official appeared from the King to congratulate the victors—exactly, said Fitz, as he would have done had the result gone the other way, save that his congratulations might then have had a little sincerity in them. But the messenger who came to congratulate went away grave, for Sir Dugald committed to him a full statement of the morning’s proceedings, to be laid before the King, with the intimation that unless apologies were at once offered and the instigators of the demonstration punished, the negotiations would be broken off forthwith and the Mission would return to Khemistan. There was no doubt that it was exceedingly injudicious of Fath-ud-Din to have allowed his servants to be seen stirring up the mob; and the official, in deep perplexity, turned over in his mind the relative disadvantages of offending the Vizier by informing the King of the truth, and on the other hand, of angering the King if Sir Dugald took his departure, and the facts which had brought it about became known.

How the messenger settled matters with his conscience was unknown for the present to the party at the Mission, for the next person they saw was Mr Hicks, who flew to the spot on the wings of zeal the moment that the news of the outbreak reached him. Stratford declared that his countenance expressed deep disappointment when he realised that the courtyard was not filled with the dead and dying, and that the flag hung unscathed; but the doctor maintained that he was prejudiced, and that Mr Hicks had hurried to offer his help in the defence, heedless of the danger he might incur in meeting the defeated mob. However this might be, Mr Hicks warmed with enthusiasm when he was told the story of the morning, and finally advanced to Sir Dugald and grasped him by the hand.

“General,” he said; “shake! You are a white man, you are. You have licked that poor ordinary crowd of niggers in a way to earn you the eternal gratitude of every Western stranger that circumstances may drive to sojourn in this uncared-for state. But I guess that your troubles are only beginning, sir.”

“Possibly,” said Sir Dugald, with perfect unconcern.

“Well, if things look black, you have only to pass me the word, General, and I will vamoose my ranche yonder and come and give you a hand. I should be right down proud to fight shoulder to shoulder with the man that turned back that mob without shedding a drop of blood.”

“You are very kind,” said Sir Dugald, with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “I can assure you that things must go very badly with us before we seek to involve you in our troubles”—a reply delivered with so much urbanity that Mr Hicks could not at first decide whether his offer was accepted or refused.

The next visitor appeared in the course of the afternoon, and was no other than the Grand Vizier himself. It was evident that the royal messenger had decided upon telling his master the truth, for Fath-ud-Din came to offer suitable apologies for the conduct of his retainers. The steward, he said, was an old family servant, who, owing to his constant intercourse with his master, had imbibed from him such exalted ideas of patriotism that on hearing the treaty discussed, and conceiving it to be unduly advantageous to England, he had felt moved to stir up the townspeople against it, his religious zeal having also been inflamed by the memories and hardships incidental to the month of Ramadan, which had just ended. The other instigator of the outbreak was a young theological student, a member of a class which was often unruly and troublesome, and which had great influence with the people. It was preposterous to imagine that the Vizier could have had any previous knowledge of the doings of these two fanatics, and he had come to declare his sorrow that it had been in the power of such wretches not only to annoy and alarm the Mission, but also to involve in their disgrace his own spotless name. He had given immediate orders that they were both to be severely punished, and if Sir Dugald liked, he would have them brought in and bastinadoed before him, so that he might assure himself that they had received their deserts. In any case (as Sir Dugald politely declined the proffered satisfaction for himself, while intimating that he would send a representative to see that the punishment was duly carried out), he brought assurances that the King of all kings felt the deepest regret for the way in which things had turned out, and entreated that the Envoy would not withdraw the light of his countenance from Kubbet-ul-Haj, but would overlook the fright and annoyance which had been caused to the Mission, and remain in Ethiopia until the treaty had been duly concluded.

“Fright?” said Sir Dugald—for the Vizier had emphasised the word, and repeated it more than once in different forms—“I saw no particular signs of fright about our people. What we felt was more like disgust. Apart from the violation of courtesy and propriety in the attack made on the flag, it was disagreeably close work down in the court there with that crowd pressing all round us.”

“Ah, my lord the Envoy is a soldier, and knows not fear, and his young men are brave also,” replied Fath-ud-Din, stroking his beard; “but the women—my lord’s household—surely their hearts became as water when they heard the shouts of the people?”

“This is the first I have heard of it, if they did,” replied Sir Dugald; “but then, I was not in a position to observe their behaviour. Mr Anstruther, you were in command at the rear. What were the ladies doing while the fighting was going on? Was there any fainting or screaming?”

“Oh no, sir. The ladies were on our roof here, watching the fun.”

“But that was extremely injudicious. If we had been obliged to evacuate Bachelors’ Buildings, their presence would have added immensely to our difficulties. You should have ordered them down, and insisted on their returning to their own quarters.”

“So I did, sir.” There was a gleam of fun in Fitz’s eyes. “I ran up there myself to insist with greater effect, and they laughed at me. It was flat mutiny, but I could not spare sufficient men to put them under arrest.”

“Ah, the women were driven mad by terror. Their feet were weighed down so that they could not move,” said Fath-ud-Din pityingly, when this had been translated to him.

“And just at the beginning, sir,” Fitz went on to Sir Dugald, “when there was that crush in the gateway, Miss Keeling sent her maid down to ask me whether I couldn’t tell the people not to move about quite so much, because she wanted to sketch them. That was how I first found out that Lady Haigh and she were up there; but I didn’t think that the remark showed a proper sense of the seriousness of the situation. I assure you that it pained me very much, sir.”

“Just translate that to the Vizier, Mr Kustendjian,” said Sir Dugald, but again incredulity was written on Fath-ud-Din’s face.

“Surely my lord knows, as I do,” he said, “that the young man is one of those who delight to laugh at the beards of their elders, and to utter the thing that is not true, to the confusion of their own faces?”

“I see that we shall have to convince this gentleman by the evidence of his own senses,” remarked Sir Dugald, addressing no one in particular. “Mr Anstruther, would you be kind enough to find out what the ladies are doing now?”

“They are working on the terrace, sir,” said Fitz, returning, “and the servants are just bringing in afternoon tea.”

“Very well. Be so good as to ask Lady Haigh to have coffee brought in as well, and tell her that Fath-ud-Din is coming to pay her a visit. She and Miss Keeling had better put on those veils of theirs, by the bye, for we don’t want any more complications introduced into this business.”

Fitz departed on his errand in high glee, and when a decent interval had been allowed for the transformation to be effected, Sir Dugald, after a few preliminary remarks tending to impress Fath-ud-Din with a sense of the greatness of the honour about to be conferred upon him, led his guest into the inner courtyard, and up the steps to the terrace. Here, indeed, there was little sign of panic. There were books and work about, and Georgia’s sketching materials were visible in a corner. She herself had the Persian kitten, which Fitz had brought home in his pocket in the morning, asleep on her lap, while Lady Haigh was pouring out tea with a hand in which the keenest gaze could not distinguish the slightest tendency to tremble. The Vizier looked disappointed—this is putting it mildly, for the young men agreed afterwards that his expression was fiendish—but he appeared to be reflecting that the veils in which his hostesses were shrouded might be serving a useful purpose in concealing the traces of fear, for presently he turned to Sir Dugald.

“Let not my lord be offended if I entreat him to inquire of his household whether terror did not seize them this morning,” he said, meekly enough.

“By no means,” returned Sir Dugald, genially. “Elma, the Vizier would like to know whether you were frightened when his people were kicking up that row in the courtyard?”

“Frightened?” snapped Lady Haigh. “What was there to be frightened about, I should like to know?” The measureless scorn in her eyes and voice evidently reached Fath-ud-Din in spite of the double barrier of the foreign language and the burka, for he swallowed his cupful of scalding coffee hastily, and it was necessary to recover him from a choking fit before he could proceed with his inquiry.

“Then will my lord ask the doctor lady, who has no husband to protect her with the might of his arm and the power of his name, whether she was not terrified?” he asked.

“Frightened?” returned Georgia, when the question had been put to her. “Oh dear, no! I have a revolver. I think,” she added, carelessly, after a pause to let the information she had just given sink in, “that it was only the kitten which was frightened. Poor little thing! It was in a pitiable state when I rescued it from Mr Anstruther’s coat-pocket.”

“By the head of our lord the King,” burst out Fath-ud-Din, rising hurriedly, “these are no women, but fighting men!”

“Isn’t it worth your while, then, to strain a point in order to gain an alliance with a nation that has such women?” asked Sir Dugald, seizing the opportunity to point a moral.

“Nay, rather,” said the Vizier, retreating to the steps as he spoke, “what are we doing to admit within our borders a nation whose very women are of such a temper as this?”

“I’m sure that was the sweetest compliment that the New Woman has ever received,” said Dick to Georgia, as Sir Dugald, followed by Stratford and Fitz, escorted his discomfited guest across the courtyard.

“Major North,” said Lady Haigh, briskly, “I consider that you are distinctly rude to your Chief’s wife. I don’t know whether you mean to deny me a share in Fath-ud-Din’s pretty speech, or to insinuate that I am a New Woman; but, in either case, I think that your conduct is sadly lacking in respect.”

“I don’t think Major North meant to be rude, Lady Haigh,” said Georgia, playing with the kitten’s tail. “His tongue ran away with him. It is a habit it has sometimes.”

“I apologise humbly, Lady Haigh,” said Dick. “In any case, what I have just heard would have forced me to believe that the New Woman was very like the old one. Now if either you or Miss Keeling would do me the honour of having the last word, my submission would be complete.”

“The question is,” said Sir Dugald, returning to the tea-table with Stratford while Lady Haigh and Georgia were still laughing, “what was it exactly that Fath-ud-Din hoped to gain by this attack on us?”

“Then you don’t think he was trying to wipe out the Mission at one blow?” asked Stratford.

“No, I don’t, unless he hoped that we should be provoked into firing on the mob, when the whole country would have risen against us. But I don’t fancy that was his game. I think he must have been trying to terrify us into withdrawing from Ethiopia at once, or else into bribing him largely to get the treaty signed immediately.”

“I think he has received a little enlightenment as to the possibility of squeezing us,” said Dick, with a grim smile. “My only cause for misgiving is a doubt whether the ladies could ever again rise to the superhuman height of heroism they displayed just now. Any weakening in that attitude in the presence of danger might lead to unfavourable remarks.”

“He is trying to punish us for what we said just now, Georgia,” said Lady Haigh, amiably. “Never mind; when the danger comes he shall see whether either of us weakens, as Mr Hicks would say.”

And the matter dropped amidst general laughter, which was perhaps what Dick wanted, for after tea he asked for an interview with Sir Dugald, and laid before him various expedients for rendering the Mission more easily defensible. These measures he was authorised to adopt, but without alarming the ladies, and he flattered himself that he was successful in this, and that Lady Haigh and Georgia never perceived that he drilled the servants each morning in the outer court, or that he had divided them into watches, each of which took its turn in remaining under arms. He had the more reason for this belief of his, in that the ladies had other things to think of, for matters seemed to have quieted down, and Georgia went to the Palace as usual, while Sir Dugald’s audiences of the King were resumed, the subject of discussion at present being the exact wording of the treaty, the provisions of which had already been agreed upon.

It was noticed by the members of the Mission that the King’s manner seemed to have changed since the outbreak, and that he was by no means so easy to please even as he had been. He cavilled at points which had already been definitely settled, and did his best to produce the impression that he considered the treaty extremely disadvantageous to Ethiopia. This was the more serious in that Jahan Beg reported the reappearance upon the scene of the Scythian agent, with larger presents and more abundant promises, and it was calculated to suggest that the King wished to irritate Sir Dugald into breaking off the negotiations. But long experience of the East had made Sir Dugald the most patient of men—in public—and his staff were astonished at the mildness with which he altered the wording of a clause again and again, without ever abating one jot of the concessions he had determined to obtain. His mingled tact and resolution carried the day at last. The treaty was agreed upon in its entirety, and after being engrossed on parchment by the King’s scribes, was read through to the Envoy, behind whom stood the interpreter Kustendjian, ready to mark the slightest deviation from the prescribed formula. There now remained only the actual signing of the convention, and it was arranged that Fath-ud-Din should bring the instrument, bearing the seals of the King and the Grand Vizier, to the Mission in the morning, there to receive Sir Dugald’s signature, after which the British expedition might take its departure peacefully and honourably from Kubbet-ul-Haj.

The day on which the treaty was to be signed was an important one also to Georgia, for she had decided, after much consultation with Dr Headlam, who could not, of course, see the patient, but who gave all the advice that his experience of like cases suggested to him, to undertake at last the operation on the Queen’s eyes. The state of the patient’s general health was not yet as satisfactory as her doctor could have desired, but when any day might bring about the departure of the Mission, Georgia felt that she dared not delay longer. Even as it was, there was little hope that she would be able to be present when, after the necessary interval, the bandages could be removed from the Queen’s eyes, and her professional conscience was troubled at the possibility of leaving her work only half-done. But Sir Dugald was far too anxious to get his followers safely out of Ethiopia to be willing to spend a week or a fortnight longer in the country in order that Georgia might see the result of her handiwork, and all she could do was to explain everything very carefully, with Rahah’s help, to Nur Jahan, and give her full directions in case of the occurrence of various possible contingencies. The actual operation was performed without a hitch, and Georgia felt deeply relieved as she fastened the bandages, impressing on the Queen and all her attendants that they were on no account to be removed until the specified time had elapsed. The Mission was not likely, in any case, to take its departure until three or four days had passed, and she promised to come in again at least once more in order to note the patient’s state, and oftener if she were summoned.

Nur Jahan escorted her to the door of the harem, plying her with questions as to the treatment the patient ought to receive, and the means by which Georgia had gained her medical skill. The girl had already proved herself such an apt pupil that Georgia sighed again over the thought that a medical career was an impossibility for her, but she kept her promise loyally to Jahan Beg. The litter was not ready when they reached the harem courtyard, and while it was being prepared she stood in the doorway talking to Nur Jahan, but leaving the questions as to her own hospital experiences unanswered, devoted the time to reiterating her directions for the Queen’s treatment. Presently a burst of laughter and loud talking reached her ears from the rooms on the other side of the courtyard, and she looked across to a balcony in which the forms of several women could be descried. They were evidently attendants on the King’s second wife, Antar Khan’s mother, who was frantically jealous of her rival owing to her monopoly of the services of the doctor lady, and who had shown this feeling in various unpleasant ways. She was much too proud to invite a visit from Georgia, or even to feign illness as an excuse for summoning her, and therefore she and her faction chose to regard the doctor lady as the dirt under their feet. They drew aside their clothes when they passed her, affected to consider the rooms in which she had been received as unclean, and seized every opportunity of insulting her from a safe distance.

The adherents of Rustam Khan’s mother, on the other hand, fully appreciated the reasons for this state of things, and exulted over their opponents on every possible occasion. They prided themselves on their exclusive possession of the doctor lady, and would have rejoiced in the opportunity of denying her services to the opposite party in a case of dangerous illness. They had just shouted across the courtyard the news of the satisfactory performance of the operation, and their rivals were naturally moved to wrath. Hence they had assembled in their balcony to point the finger of scorn at Georgia, and to jeer at her and Nur Jahan, whose own position in the Palace was so uncertain that she dared not run the risk of getting her husband into disgrace by appealing to the King.

“Thou art very proud, O doctor lady,” cried a strong-lunged damsel, leaning over the rail of the balcony, “but when next we see thee thou wilt be entreating mercy at our lady’s feet.”

Rahah translated the prophecy to her mistress at once, and Georgia, in sudden alarm, turned to Nur Jahan.

“You are our friend, Nur Jahan? If you knew of any plot against the Mission, you would warn me?”

“I would risk my life and all that I have to warn thee in such a case, O doctor lady,” replied Nur Jahan, earnestly; “but what I fear is a plot of which I should know nothing.”

With these ominous words ringing in her ears, Georgia entered the litter, and returned to the Mission in a somewhat perturbed state of mind. It seemed, however, that there was nothing going on that need excite her alarm. The Grand Vizier and his attendants had just brought the treaty to be ratified, and Georgia caught a glimpse of the assemblage as she passed through into the inner courtyard with Rahah. Had she guessed what was about to happen in the Durbar-hall, nothing would have induced her to leave the outer court.

On the table before Sir Dugald lay the treaty, written out with the greatest care and delicacy on a huge sheet of parchment, and displaying the most wonderful flourishes and other decorations at the beginning of every clause. At the other side of the table stood Fath-ud-Din, his attendants crowding behind him and peering eagerly over his shoulder to watch Sir Dugald. The Envoy had taken the pen from the hand of Fitz, and was glancing down the parchment for the exact place at which he was to affix his signature. To all appearance the treaty was the same that had been read over to him the day before, and yet some suspicion entered his mind, prompted by his instinctive caution. He would not trust to his own slight knowledge of the Ethiopian language, but called Kustendjian forward.

“Be so good as to summarise that for me,” he said, laying his finger on the clause which concerned the appointment of a British Resident, with jurisdiction over British subjects in Ethiopia, who should take up his abode at Iskandarbagh.

The Armenian’s eyes grew wide as he advanced and scanned the passage pointed out by Sir Dugald. “The Resident is to have no power to decide any cause in dispute between a British subject and an Ethiopian, nor between two British subjects when the question concerns property or other interests situated in Ethiopia, your Excellency,” he said, in a low voice.

“And that,” said Sir Dugald, indicating the clause by which British goods, with the exception of munitions of war and ardent spirits, were to be allowed entrance into Ethiopia upon payment of duties not exceeding a certain percentage of the value, which were to be imposed by the King and approved by England.

“The minimum duty is to be a hundred per cent ad valorem, and there is no proviso as to the approval of her Majesty’s Government, your Excellency. Every one of the clauses has had additions or omissions made in it, which render it absolutely useless for all practical purposes.”

“Thank you, Mr Kustendjian.” Sir Dugald laid down the pen deliberately, and took up the treaty. The Ethiopians present had watched his actions with eager interest, but could read nothing from his face. Now, however, he seemed to their guilty consciences to rise and tower above them (under normal circumstances he was under middle height), as he tore the tough parchment across and across, and flung the fragments over the table to Fath-ud-Din.

He tore the tough parchment across and across...

“Take those to your master,” he said; “and be thankful that I don’t call the servants to drive you out of the courtyard as they drove your hired ruffians last week. The Mission leaves Kubbet-ul-Haj to-day.”

CHAPTER X.
CAUGHT AND CAGED.

When the Grand Vizier and his companions had been conducted to the door by the servants, and the gates had closed behind them, Sir Dugald turned from the table at which he had been standing motionless, and addressed Dick. The work of months had been overthrown, and the success by which he had hoped to put the crowning touch to his official career rendered impossible of attainment; but his first thought was to vindicate the outraged dignity of his country, insulted in his person.

“When you made your inspection of the stables this morning, Major North, were the animals all in?”

“Yes, sir; this is my weekly inspection, and the camels which had been out at pasture were brought in by their drivers to be passed. They all looked very fit; but we have not much forage for them in store.”

“We must chance that. I should be glad if you would have our riding-horses, together with a sufficient number of camels to carry the tents and their furniture, brought round here two hours before sunset. It would be impossible to travel far to-day, but if we are outside the city the required moral effect will be produced. I shall leave you and Anstruther behind to bring on the stores and the heavy luggage. We will travel by slow stages until you come up with us, and then we must make forced marches, and get out of the country as fast as possible, for we shall have no escort this time.”

For the first time in his life Dick hesitated to obey an order.

“But the ladies, sir,” he suggested. “Is it safe?”

“Is it safe for them here? The sooner we have them out of the city, the safer they will be,” and Dick, silenced, went to do his errand at the various stables in which the baggage-animals of the Mission were quartered.

To say that the sudden order to pack up and be ready to start on the homeward journey that very afternoon was startling to the ladies would be to mince matters, for it came upon them like a thunder-clap; but Lady Haigh was an old traveller, whom no vicissitudes could disturb for long, and Georgia was a soldier’s daughter, and they were both resolved that the honour of England should not be dragged in the dust on their account by the delay of a moment after the appointed hour of starting. Accordingly, they set to work immediately to take down and wrap up and stow away all the possessions with which they had made the house homelike during their tenancy of it, and were in the act of packing their dresses (which, as every lady will know, always occupy the topmost place in a box), when Dick made his appearance on the terrace. Georgia, who was standing at the table pulling out the sleeves of a favourite silk blouse, which she had just rescued from the ruthless hands of Rahah, looked at him in surprise, for his face was grave and set.

“Please don’t say that you want us to start this moment,” she said, cheerfully. “Lady Haigh and I are willing to make any sacrifice in reason for our country, but we had rather not leave our best dresses behind.”

“It won’t be necessary,” returned Dick, trying, but with poor success, to speak in the same tone. “We shall not leave to-day, after all.”

“Not leave to-day!” cried Lady Haigh, coming out on the terrace, and folding up a skirt at the same time. “Then when do we start?”

“Not just yet, I fear. The fact is, the King is trying on a little joke with us. He has fetched away all our horses and camels, and we can’t get them back.”

“But when did he do it? and where are they gone?” asked Lady Haigh, in hot indignation.

“He must have done it immediately after I had come away from the stables after picking out the beasts for your start this evening. Where they are gone I don’t know; but we can’t hire any others, and we can’t very well walk, and therefore I suppose we must stay here.”

“But it is such a bad precedent to let him get the better of us like this!” cried Lady Haigh. “It is such absolute stealing, too. Are the servants gone as well as the animals?”

“Yes, they have all been marched off to fresh quarters somewhere. That thins our forces sadly.”

“So it does,” Lady Haigh assented, gravely. “But never mind; if the King won’t let us leave the city, we will make ourselves happy where we are.”

“And perhaps,” suggested Georgia, “it is merely that the King is sorry for his treachery about the treaty, and wants to prevent Sir Dugald’s leaving Kubbet-ul-Haj in anger. He may mean to resume the negotiations to-morrow.”

“He may,” agreed Dick, but his face was not hopeful as he returned across the courtyard, while the ladies took the things out of the boxes they had just packed. Still, the events of the next morning seemed to confirm Georgia’s cheerful augury, for an embassy came from the King to Sir Dugald, headed, not by the Grand Vizier (possibly he felt a slight doubt as to the nature of the reception he was likely to meet with), but by the official who had superintended the establishment of the Mission in its present quarters. In the message which he brought, Sir Dugald was entreated to overlook the incident of the day before, which had been devised by the King merely as a test of his shrewdness, and was in no way a serious attempt to induce him to sign a false treaty. If he would only come to the Palace to-day, the original treaty should be ready for his signature, and the King would affix his seal to it in his presence. At first Sir Dugald returned an absolute refusal to this invitation, but the messenger reappeared with it twice, adding such solemn and earnest assurances of its genuine character, that he consented to talk the matter over with his staff. Lady Haigh and Georgia invited themselves to assist at the discussion, and the first thing that opened Georgia’s eyes to the gravity of the situation was the fact that Sir Dugald made no protest against the irregularity of this proceeding.

“You won’t go, Dugald?” said Lady Haigh, anxiously. “Probably it is only a trap. Remember Macnaghten.”

“Couldn’t you manage to suggest any more cheerful reminiscence?” asked Sir Dugald.

“You really mean to go, sir?” asked Dick.

“I think so. After all, what happened yesterday may have been only a trick, as this man says, though I don’t think the King would have hesitated to profit by it if I had signed the false treaty. At any rate, so long as there is a chance of our coming off victorious, we ought not to let it slip. This treaty is of immense importance, for it brings Ethiopia within our sphere of influence, and when once it is concluded, we can snap our fingers at Scythia and Neustria. You see as well as I do that if we withdraw now and negotiations are resumed later, Scythia will have had time to slip in and conclude her treaty. I grant that we have a very slender chance of success, but if it depends on me I will not lose it. Still, I don’t wish to take you into danger against your better judgment, gentlemen. Your lives are at stake as much as mine, and if you think it advisable not to go to the Palace, I will dispense with your attendance on this occasion.”

“We will go wherever you go, Sir Dugald,” said Dick.

“Wherever you go,” echoed the rest.

“But I can’t take all of you,” said Sir Dugald. “Two of you must stay here and look after the ladies. I don’t like dividing our force, but it would be poor strategy to let them be seized as hostages while we were away. You see what I mean, Elma? I will leave you North and the doctor as a garrison, and you and the servants must put yourselves under their orders and help to defend the place if it is attacked.”

“No, Dugald,” returned Lady Haigh, resolutely, regardless of the fact that she was indulging in open mutiny, “unless Major North goes with you, you shall not go to the Palace at all. Dr Headlam and we can defend ourselves quite well behind stone walls; but it would be madness for you to trust yourself outside without a man with you that knew anything about fighting. Only take Major North, and I am content.”

For peace’ sake, Sir Dugald accepted this view of the case, and a little later the party set out with the ambassador, who had brought with him several horses from the King’s stables for them to ride—huge fat animals, most of them a peculiar pinkish-white in colour, with highly arched necks and flowing manes and tails decorated with ribbons and sham jewellery. They were provided with high native saddles and elaborate saddle-cloths, and the ambassador explained that they were intended as gifts to Sir Dugald and to his staff. Asked what had become of the animals belonging to the Mission, he confessed ingenuously that the King had had them removed in order to frustrate Sir Dugald’s design of leaving the city, but that they would be returned as soon as ever the treaty was signed, so that the Envoy and his young men might depart in peace.

Arrived at the Palace, the members of the Mission were conducted to the usual hall of audience. It was not without some unpleasant sensations that they heard the gates of the courtyard close behind them, and Dick involuntarily loosened his sword in the scabbard, and noticed that Stratford and Fitz were feeling whether their revolvers were safe. Sir Dugald alone showed no signs of disturbance, even when on reaching the hall he was requested to enter the King’s presence-chamber by himself, the rest remaining in the outer room. Before he could answer, his staff pressed around him, regardless of etiquette.

“Don’t go, sir,” said Dick. “It’s a trap.”

“They mean mischief, Sir Dugald,” said Stratford. “The King has never asked to see you alone before.”

“Let us put a pistol to this fellow’s head, sir, and keep him as a hostage until we are safely back at the Mission,” suggested Fitz, looking daggers at the smiling official, who was bowing and spreading out his hands in token of the welcome which awaited Sir Dugald in the King’s presence.

“Nonsense!” said Sir Dugald, irritably, motioning Stratford aside. “You mean well, gentlemen; but we can’t make fools of ourselves in this way. Look there. You see that there’s nothing but a curtain between the two rooms, and you would hear the slightest scuffle or cry for help. I give you free leave to interfere if you do hear anything of the kind, but pray keep cool.”

He went on, following the official, and passed under the heavy curtain which covered the doorway of the inner room. Some minutes of painful suspense ensued, while the three Englishmen and Kustendjian strained their ears to hear what was going on within. Suddenly there came a sound as of the ringing of metal on a marble floor, and Dick sprang to the doorway with a bound, followed by the rest, and tore aside the curtain. He never quite knew what he had expected to see, but it was certainly not the sight which met his eyes. The King was sitting on his raised divan, with Fath-ud-Din standing beside him. Before them there lay on a gorgeous Persian carpet a great pile of bags of money, one of which had been kicked across the room. It had burst open, and the clash of the escaping silver was the sound which the listeners had heard. They had no time to meditate further on the situation, for Sir Dugald, his face white with anger, was coming towards them, actually turning his back on the King, and as he reached the doorway he looked round over his shoulder and spoke.

“Your Majesty understands that under no circumstances will I consent to enter the Palace again. Any communication you may wish to make to me can pass through my secretary.”

“But which is he?” inquired Fath-ud-Din smoothly in Arabic, the language in which Sir Dugald had spoken. “Is he the mighty man of whose deeds the hillmen sing, and with whose name the women of Khemistan terrify their children?”

Sir Dugald silently indicated Stratford, and the Vizier looked at him and grunted softly to himself. But the King sat up suddenly (he had been leaning forward with his chin on his hand, listening to what passed), and said—

“Ye cannot leave this place without camels, and camels ye shall not have until the treaty is signed.”

“No; but we can wait here until a British force comes to escort us away,” said Sir Dugald, and marched down the hall. His staff followed him, not without an uneasy feeling that they might be attacked from behind. Indeed, Kustendjian confessed afterwards that he had never felt quite so much frightened in his life as when Fitz gave him a poke in the ribs.

“What was it that they really did, sir?” asked Dick, when they were riding back to the Mission.

“They tried bribery and corruption, North—offered me the heap of money you saw on the floor if I would sign that precious treaty of theirs and make no bones about it. I have had experiences of the kind before, in out-of-the-way places, where the people knew little of British rule, but this is quite the biggest thing of its sort that has ever been tried with me. I don’t fancy they will attempt it again.”

“Was it the treaty you tore up yesterday?”

“Exactly the same. I knew it this time without Kustendjian’s help. Well, this is the last occasion on which we shall be tricked into going to the Palace on such an errand.”

But it was evident the next morning that the Ethiopian authorities had not given up hope, for a second deputation appeared, headed by an official even higher in rank than the preceding one, and entreated Sir Dugald to return to the Palace once again. This time the King had tried his loyalty, which had stood the test; and now, finding that he could neither be deceived nor corrupted, he would send with him an autograph letter to her Majesty, advising her to promote the Envoy above all her servants, since neither threats nor bribes nor any devices could move him. Sir Dugald smiled grimly when he heard the message, which was brought him by Stratford, who had interviewed the embassy.

“Praise from such a quarter is praise indeed,” he remarked; “but you may tell them, Mr Stratford, that this fish will not bite.”

Again the deputation sent in earnest entreaties for merely a sight of Sir Dugald’s face, declaring that they dared not return to the King without having seen him, and on being dismissed they came back twice over, each time becoming more urgent in their request. Let Sir Dugald only come to the Palace once more, and sign the treaty in the King’s presence, and all would be well. But Sir Dugald was not to be moved. The utmost concession that he would make in answer to the prayers of the messengers was to consent to sign the original treaty if it were brought to him at the Mission already bearing the seals of the King and Fath-ud-Din, or else to allow Stratford to take to the Palace the copy made by Kustendjian and obtain the required signatures to it, after which Sir Dugald would affix his. Further than this he would not go, and the deputation retired disappointed once more.

No deputation appeared the next day, but the members of the Mission were not allowed to imagine themselves forgotten. Before the hour at which the gate was usually opened in the morning, a strong guard of soldiers took post before it, and signified that they would permit no one either to enter or leave the premises. Under these circumstances Sir Dugald, while intrusting to the officer in command of the troops a formal protest to be delivered to the King, considered it advisable to keep the gate shut, although the soldiers showed no disposition to attempt to force an entrance. The object of their presence, which appeared at first as a somewhat purposeless insult, was soon discovered, for when the country-people came as usual with their baskets of eggs and vegetables for sale, intending to set up their market in the street, as they had done since the day of the riot, they were turned back and not allowed to approach the gate. In the same way the cooks, who made an attempt to get out as far as the town market to do their catering, were refused leave to pass, and returned disconsolately into the courtyard. It was evident that an endeavour was to be made to starve the Mission into surrender, and Sir Dugald ordered an examination of the stores to be instituted. The result was not reassuring. It had never been intended that the expedition should carry all its supplies with it, and therefore, although there was still a considerable quantity of tinned provisions and other articles of luxury, there was a great deficiency of corn and flour, and of course an absolute lack of fresh meat and vegetables. It was obviously necessary to put the whole party upon fixed rations at once, but this measure would be of little avail if the blockade outside were strictly kept up.

With night, however, a gleam of comfort arrived in the shape of Jahan Beg, who was discovered by Fitz lurking in the lane behind the house, and was drawn up to the window by a rope. He had heard of the King’s last measure of offence, and was anxious to know how it affected his friends. Sir Dugald’s refusal to go to the Palace he approved heartily, saying that any yielding now would be accepted as a sign of fear and weakness, leaving out of sight the extreme probability that the opportunity would be seized of making an attempt on his life. At the same time, the Amir confessed that he saw no way out of the situation which would combine honour and safety. Fath-ud-Din was paramount in the council, and while he was in power no one else could get a hearing. Rustam Khan was in fear of his life, and had everything ready for flight at a moment’s notice should his spies inform him that it was expedient. The Scythian envoy was once more to the front, although no definite arrangement had as yet been concluded with him. It seemed to be Fath-ud-Din’s policy to play off one nation against the other, doing his best to secure concessions from each, while giving as little as possible in the way of equivalent to either.

“If you can get any treaty that in the slightest degree approaches your demands, sign it and go,” said Jahan Beg. “And if you can’t get your treaty, go in any case, if you can.”

“I was thinking of sending a man off to Fort Rahmat-Ullah to describe our plight, and ask for orders and help,” said Sir Dugald; “but the difficulty is that they will allow no one to pass. One does not care to court a rebuff by demanding facilities for the passage of a courier taking important despatches to Khemistan and finding them refused; and even if we could smuggle him out behind in any way, there would be a very slender chance of his passing the city gates, much less of reaching the frontier.”

“I will do what I can to help a messenger off if you are obliged to run the blockade,” said Jahan Beg; “but as you say, there is a very slight chance of success. Why not send a message by that fellow Hicks, who has been talking for weeks of returning to Khemistan immediately?”

“Because he only meant to return when our business was over, and now that things have become more exciting he is bound to be in at the death,” said Sir Dugald. “He must wait here and write our obituary notices, you see.”

“Well, I advise you to wait a day or two, in case anything occurs to alter the situation. The Scythian agent may turn rusty if it dawns upon him that he is being played with, and then your chance will come.”

“The worst of it is that our chances are limited by our supplies,” said Sir Dugald. “We have not got the beasts and the camel-men to consider now, certainly, but it is no joke providing simply for ourselves and the servants here. Both Fath-ud-Din and the Scythian envoy have the whip-hand of us in that respect.”

“Yes,” put in Georgia, for the conversation was taking place on the terrace, “it would not do us much good personally even to get the treaty signed, when we were reduced to a ration of three tinned peas and a square inch of chocolate each a day.”

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Keeling,” said Stratford. “I think I can assure you that we men will each add one pea and an appreciable fraction of the chocolate to your ration and Lady Haigh’s.”

“And we shall hand it back to you, remarking gracefully that you need it more than we do,” said Georgia.

“By the bye,” said Jahan Beg, “I think I can help you about provisions a little. I can get a small supply of corn through the lanes at the back without attracting the notice of the soldiers, and you can draw up the sacks through the window. I will bring you a donkey-load to-morrow night, and another the next night, if all is well.”

In spite of the watch kept on the house, Jahan Beg was as good as his word, and succeeded in supplying the beleaguered garrison, in the course of the next three nights, with enough corn to relieve them from any present fear of starvation. In other respects, however, the situation showed no improvement. Once more a deputation from the Palace arrived to propose terms of peace, and departed as before without seeing Sir Dugald. But this time the official who headed it declared as he departed that no more messages of conciliation would be sent by the King. After this, if the British Mission desired to abandon its attitude of suspicion, and meet the Ethiopian Government on a footing of mutual confidence, it must make the first move. The soldiers at the gateway had been ordered to allow Sir Dugald to pass at any hour of the day or night, either with or without his staff, and to escort him to the Palace with due honour. But no advantage was taken of this intimation, and inside the Mission councils were held daily as to the measures to be adopted in case the state of affairs should remain unchanged. Sir Dugald had decided to send a messenger to Fort Rahmat-Ullah asking for instructions, and Jahan Beg had chosen one of his servants, a man who was devoted to him and who knew the country well, for the dangerous errand. As soon as arrangements had been made for a supply of horses along the route to be traversed, this man was to come to the Mission to receive Sir Dugald’s despatches, which were to be sewn up in his clothes, and the imprisoned residents began to regard the state of affairs with somewhat greater equanimity, since the burden of decision in the dilemma in which they found themselves would be laid upon other shoulders than their own.

On the fourth day of the blockade, however, an unexpected change occurred. Again an embassy appeared, but this time it was a private one. It consisted of the two sons of Fath-ud-Din, who had brought Mr Hicks to introduce them and to guarantee their good faith, and a number of attendants, who bore gifts of fruit and vegetables. The object of their errand was soon imparted. Fath-ud-Din had been seized with a mysterious illness, the nature of which was unknown to the Ethiopian physicians and baffled all their remedies, and he had sent to entreat Dr Headlam, to whose skill all his patients in the city bore eloquent testimony, to come and prescribe for him. Sir Dugald and his staff looked at one another doubtfully when they heard the message.

“It looks remarkably like a trap,” said Sir Dugald.

“Still, Hicks would scarcely lend himself to such a thing,” said the doctor.

“Let us have him in,” said Sir Dugald; and Mr Hicks was invited into the Durbar-hall, leaving his young friends in the verandah.

“If you ask me, I think the old man is real sick,” he said, in reply to their questions. “I heard his groans when I called at his house just now, and they were awful. I guess the old sinner is nailed this time, any way.”

“But it is so exactly what one might look for in a plot to secure one of us as a hostage for the signing of the treaty,” said Dick.

“Well, two can play at that game,” said the doctor, who was eager to go. “I suppose I must have young Fath-ud-Din with me to do the honours of the house, but do you keep the boy here, and don’t let him go until you have me safely back. That ought to checkmate any intended move of theirs.”

“Doctor, there’s something like grit in you!” cried Mr Hicks, warmly. “What with your professional enthusiasm, and your level-headedness, you deserve to be immortalised. And your name shall be handed down in the pages of history, or I will cut my connection with the ‘Crier’ from that day.”

“Thanks,” said the doctor. “Now suppose you call in the young gentlemen and explain the state of affairs. I don’t want to get to the house and find the poor old villain beyond my skill.”

The Vizier’s eldest son understood the matter at once, and was perfectly willing that his young brother should remain at the Mission as a hostage for Dr Headlam’s safe return. The boy was therefore delivered over to Sir Dugald and taken into the inner court, and the doctor left the house with Mr Hicks and young Fath-ud-Din.

“Make the most of your opportunities, doctor,” Stratford called after him as he departed. “Have the medicine ready, and refuse to give it him except as the price of the signing of our treaty.”

Dr Headlam went off laughing, and the evening passed quietly at the Mission. About eleven o’clock the doctor returned, escorted by young Fath-ud-Din, who received his brother back, and departed with profuse expressions of gratitude.

“What sort of time have you had with the boy?” asked the doctor of Stratford and Dick, who were accompanying him across the court on his way to his own quarters.

“Oh, not bad, under the circumstances,” returned Dick. “We set Anstruther down to teach him halma by signs, and Miss Keeling gave us a little music—that is to say, she did her best to sing to the strains of Kustendjian’s concertina. I never heard any one play so vilely as that fellow in all my life, but the boy seemed impressed. Afterwards we sat in a ring and tried to talk, with Kustendjian to interpret, and all got most fearfully sleepy. But how did you get on?”

“Well, I don’t quite know,” replied the doctor, somewhat reluctantly. “I have an uncomfortable kind of feeling, and yet I can’t be sure that it is justified. But I will tell you about the events of the evening, and then you can judge for yourselves whether the matter is of any importance.”

“Oh, go on!” said Dick and Stratford together. “Don’t keep us on the rack.”

“Well, as soon as I got to the house I was taken to see old Fath-ud-Din. It’s pretty clear to me that he has a tolerably severe attack of influenza, but he thought he was dying—or at any rate, he groaned as if he did. I prescribed the usual remedies, and gave various directions as to things which I thought might relieve him. He sent the servants out of the room to get hot flannels and the other things I had ordered, and then turned to me. I was pouring out the medicine, which I had fortunately been able to make up from the drugs I had brought with me, and I went to give it to him. As I held the glass to his lips, he fixed me with his eye and said in Arabic, ‘A doctor has many opportunities.’ It was such a truism that I merely agreed, and he went on, ‘He holds in his hand the life of the man to whose help he is called.’ I thought he was afraid that I might be trying to poison him, and I said, ‘If your Excellency doubts me, I will sip the medicine myself first.’ At that he grinned in what he seemed to consider as a friendly and ingratiating manner, and said, ‘You mistake me. I trust you. So also does the Queen of England’s Envoy trust you, and our lord the King trusts his physician.’ I didn’t quite see the relevance of the remark, so I cut matters short by requesting him to take his medicine. He sat up and balanced the glass in his hand, and said, looking at me over the edge of it: ‘Doubtless you are acquainted with poisons which could be administered in a little draught like this, and do their work without causing suspicion?’ I didn’t at all like the turn the conversation was taking, but I told him shortly that I did know of such poisons, and he said at once, ‘There are great fortunes to be made by men who possess such knowledge as that, and who are willing to use it.’ I was partly flustered and partly angry, for I could not make out whether he was still harping on the idea of my poisoning him, or hinting at bribing me to murder Sir Dugald or perhaps the King, and I said very emphatically, ‘I don’t understand your Excellency, and I must ask you to remember that I have no wish whatever to do so.’ That was something of a cram, I’m afraid, but I was too much flurried to pick my phrases, and I gave him the medicine without another word. Then the servants came back, and I saw them make him comfortable, and then Hicks and I had dinner, or supper, or whatever you might call it, with young Fath-ud-Din. Now, what do you think of it?”

“It looks fishy,” said Stratford. “If you ask me, I think we must look after the Chief.”

“Just so,” said Dr Headlam, “but without frightening the ladies. I will tell him the whole story to-morrow morning. They couldn’t attempt anything particular to-night, and it’s very late. Besides, I feel a bit seedy myself.”

“I hope they haven’t poisoned you,” said Dick, pausing and looking at him.

“Nonsense, my dear fellow. Why, Hicks and young Fath-ud-Din and I were all eating out of the same dish. If you had seen some of the messes of which politeness forced Hicks and me to partake, you would wonder that we are alive now. There was one concoction full of chillies, which has made me most consumedly thirsty.”

“Come back and have something to drink,” said Dick. “The servants are gone to roost, but I think we are capable of compounding you a peg between us.”

“No, thanks; I am looking forward to a glass of my own effervescent mixture. My servants always have orders to leave the filter full for me. Well, we must be thinking of turning in, I suppose.”

“Stay over here to-night,” said Stratford, moved by a sudden impulse. “We can manage to put you up in Bachelors’ Buildings, and it will be more convenient if you are really seedy. Besides, it is undoubtedly bad policy for one of us to sleep out in an isolated house at a time like this.”

“My dear Stratford, I have a rifle and a revolver and a whole armoury of surgical knives with which to defend my hearth and home. Any midnight marauder who came to pay me a visit would find that he had undertaken a tough job. Moreover, my servants are good fellows, and they are armed after a fashion. And then I have the famous collection, with the reputation Anstruther has conferred upon it, to protect me. Good-night: I am really too thirsty to wait talking any longer.”

They unbarred the gate and let him out, watched him cross the street and knock at his own door, and saw him admitted. Then, after going the round of the sentries, they retired to their own quarters, where they spent some time in conversation. Before turning in, they went out to the gate once more, impelled by a common anxiety for which they made no attempt to account to one another, and looked across at the doctor’s house; but the door was shut, and all was quiet there.

CHAPTER XI.
THE RANKS ARE THINNED.

“Mr Stratford! Mr Stratford!”

The words were accompanied by an emphatic knocking at the door, and Stratford sat up in bed.

“Come in!” he shouted, recognising the voice, and Fitz Anstruther entered, shutting the door carefully behind him.

“I’m afraid there’s something wrong over at the doctor’s,” he said. “His house-door is ajar, and yet none of his people seem to be stirring. I wanted to go over and see what was the matter, but old Ismail Bakhsh wouldn’t let me pass out of the gate, and told me to call you and Major North. May I go now? I won’t be a minute.”

“No, call North, and he and I will go over,” said Stratford, beginning to dress, and Fitz, with a sense of deep disappointment, obeyed. In a very few minutes Stratford and Dick came down the steps together, and after posting Fitz at the gate in case a hurried return should be necessary, passed between the lounging forms of the Ethiopian soldiers who were occupying the street, and entered the doctor’s house. Its air of desolation surprised them, for they found the courtyard and verandah strewn with books and papers, and odds and ends of small value.

“Looks as though the place had been looted,” said Dick.

They crossed the verandah and entered the house, still without meeting a soul. Here again all was desolation. Everything of value seemed to be gone, and the furniture was broken and knocked about. The only things left uninjured were the glass bottles containing the natural history specimens, which still remained untouched on their shelves. The door into the next room was ajar, and a kerosene lamp was burning itself out on the table, filling the air with its pungent odour as the flame flickered, recovered itself, and sank again. Glancing into the semi-darkness, the intruders could make out the form of the doctor, lying half-dressed across his bed, the lamp-light gleaming on the barrel of a revolver in his hand.

Somewhat reassured by the sight, they advanced and pushed the door wide open, then recoiled precipitately. The face which met their view was that of a dead man—of one who had died in the extremest agony. The protruding eyeballs, the lips drawn back to the gums, the black and swollen tongue, all testified to the sufferer’s having endured the utmost torments of thirst.

Ashamed of their momentary panic, Stratford and Dick, putting a strong constraint upon themselves, entered the room and lifted the corpse, unclasping the rigid hand from the revolver.

“They did poison him, then!” said Dick, fiercely. “Well, we will have Fath-ud-Din’s blood for this.”

“How?” asked Stratford. “When was he poisoned? Was it at dinner last night, or had his servants poisoned the water in the filter? If young Fath-ud-Din and Hicks are both unhurt, we can never prove that it wasn’t that. It has been very smartly managed.”

“Here is a piece of paper and a pencil,” said Dick, handing them to him. “He must have been writing as he lay.”

“Look here,” said Stratford, holding out the paper after glancing through it, “the poor fellow has put down his symptoms and the remedies he tried, as a guide to us. He wrote at intervals, evidently. You see, after recording his symptoms twice, he says, ‘Servants gathered round the door watching me. Refuse to bring water.’ Then more symptoms, and then, ‘Servants are looting the house. Afraid to touch collection.’ Now you see the writing becomes much weaker. ‘Ask Miss Keeling to keep collection in memory of me. Take my mother back the Bible she gave me. Good-bye all. Take care of Miss Keeling; they will strike at her next—the only doctor left. God have mercy——’ It breaks off there, you notice, with a scrawl right across the page. The pencil must have dropped from his hand. To think what the poor fellow must have been enduring all alone in the night, with those fiends gloating over him!”

They stood up on either side of the dead man and looked at each other. Both were men who would not have flinched in the hottest fight, and yet each now saw reflected in the other’s eyes the unutterable horror of his own. What chance was there of success against a foe who fought with such weapons as this? Stratford was the first to speak.

“I must go over and get the Chief to come,” he said. “Will you stay here with—him? I won’t be longer than I can help.”

Dick nodded, and he went off swiftly. For a few moments Dick sat still, staring fixedly at the distorted face of the man who had been a true comrade and good friend to him during the last few months. Then he pushed back the box on which he had been sitting, and began to walk up and down the room, averting his eyes from the dreadful thing on the bed.

“What are we to do?” he cried in despair. “It’s not for myself—God knows it’s not for myself—but those poor women!”

Georgia’s face rose up before him—not an uncommon occurrence in these days—and he ground his teeth as he remembered the dead man’s warning. He was powerless, and he knew it. What could four Englishmen, with Kustendjian and the little handful of native servants, do against a whole nation? How could they defend the helpless women who had come to Kubbet-ul-Haj trusting in their protection?

“At any rate,” said Dick, clenching his fist involuntarily, “if they strike at her they shall strike me first!”

Presently Stratford came back with Sir Dugald, to whom he had explained hastily the doctor’s suspicions of the night before. Sir Dugald’s arrival and his immediate grasp of the situation did something to lessen the tension in the minds of the two younger men, an effect which was enhanced by the prompt and decisive orders which he proceeded to give.

“I shall send you to the Palace with Kustendjian, Stratford, to tell the King exactly what has happened, and to insist that it shall be inquired into immediately. There is no such thing as an inquest here, of course, but I suppose we had better leave the body for the present as you found it, in case they send some one to see how things were.”

“But what about punishing the murderers, sir?” asked Dick, eagerly.

“Who are the murderers?” responded Sir Dugald.

“What is your opinion, sir?”

“My opinion is the same as yours and Stratford’s—that poor Headlam was poisoned at Fath-ud-Din’s dinner; but you must see for yourself that it is absolutely impossible for us to prove it. Fath-ud-Din will say that the servants murdered their master in order to steal his property. Why otherwise should they have looted the place and decamped?”

“Because they were afraid of being suspected,” suggested Dick.

“Possibly; although in that case it was an insane idea for them to meddle with the poor fellow’s things. Besides, three of them came with us from Khemistan, and were not like these Ethiopians here. They were British subjects, and would have known that we should protect them and give them a fair trial. No; my opinion is that the servants had been got at, and were in league with Fath-ud-Din. He was to administer the poison, and they were to loot the house and disappear, in order that suspicion might rest upon them. No doubt he guaranteed their escape, and provided a safe refuge for them. But, if this is the case, you see we are powerless. Nothing but a direct confession from one of those immediately concerned could enable us to bring the crime home.”

“Then you will not even charge Fath-ud-Din with it?”

“My dear North”—Sir Dugald laid his hand not unkindly on Dick’s shoulder—“pull yourself together, and consider what our position here is. Don’t let your eagerness to avenge poor Headlam blind you to the fact that we are in an enemy’s country, with several women to protect, and four guns (I don’t count Kustendjian) to do it with. At present Fath-ud-Din is bound to work against us secretly, but if we brought such an accusation against him it would be open war. The King could not give him up for punishment if he would, and it would be far easier, in any case, to get rid of us than of him. You may put me down as cold-blooded and calculating—in fact, I know you do—but it is my duty to try to bring the Mission out of this most unfortunate business with as little loss of life as possible.”

“I quite see that, sir; but when I look at the poor chap lying there——”

“You must not look at the dead, North, but at the living. If it should so happen that I were to die as the doctor has died, my last care would be to give Stratford a solemn charge to get the rest of you safely out of the country before he hinted at suspicion or said a word about avenging me. I don’t deny that we ought never to have brought the ladies here, but, hampered as we are by their presence, we have given hostages to fortune. Heaven helping me, I mean to have that treaty signed yet, before we leave Kubbet-ul-Haj; but, if that is not to be, then I shall turn all my thoughts to getting the ladies across the frontier in safety. I hope I may feel assured that my staff will do all in their power to co-operate with me, and to take my place should I be removed.”

“You may count on me, Sir Dugald,” said Dick, slowly. “I hope you will forgive what I said just now. I was so much upset that I did not consider things properly.”

Before Sir Dugald could answer, Stratford, who had gone back to the Mission to prepare for his visit to the Palace, returned with Kustendjian, and received his orders. He was on no account to enter the Palace, merely to stand without and demand justice; and he was to be satisfied with nothing less than a royal proclamation denouncing the murderers, and ordering an immediate search for the fugitive servants. Little success as could be hoped for from this measure, such an edict would at least vindicate the prestige of the Mission.

“Now,” said Sir Dugald to Dick when Stratford and the interpreter had taken their departure, “we will get two or three of the servants over here, and set them to work to knock together a coffin. We must make it out of some of these packing-cases, I suppose. It will only be a rough affair. And then we must see about a burial-ground and a grave. It is sad to leave behind one you have liked and trusted in a country like this!”

Sir Dugald’s iron face twitched as he spoke, and he stooped over the corpse.

“Can you find a pair of scissors, North? I must cut off a lock of his hair for Lady Haigh to take to his mother, for I will not allow either her or Miss Keeling to come over and see him like this. I must break the news to them presently, but they shall know as little of the truth as I can manage to tell them.”

Dick found a pair of scissors in the dead man’s medicine-chest, and Sir Dugald cut off a lock of hair and placed it carefully in his pocket-book. Then he went across to the Mission, returning in a short time with two servants, whom he set to work at their mournful task, and leaving Dick to superintend them, went back to break the news to his wife and Georgia. Presently he was summoned again to the doctor’s house to meet the official who had returned with Stratford from the Palace, and who bore assurances of the grief and wrath felt by the King on account of the crime which had been committed. Stratford brought word that the monarch’s utterances seemed to be really sincere, and that it was probable that even if the murder was justly attributed to Fath-ud-Din, his master had no share in it. He had come to the door of the Palace to meet Stratford, finding that he would not enter, and to all appearance was struck with surprise and horror at his news. The thought that the Queen of England might suspect that he had plotted the murder of her officer seemed to impress him particularly, and he was ready to order every possible step to be taken that could lead to the detection of the criminals. At the same time, he was persistent in fastening the guilt upon the runaway servants, and refused to listen to the hint thrown out by Stratford that they might have been instigated to their deed by some one higher in position; and neither Sir Dugald nor his subordinates could resist the conclusion, that although it was in all probability true that the King knew nothing of the crime before it had taken place, yet he had now no difficulty in assigning it to its true perpetrator, whom he was, moreover, determined to shield.

Short of allowing any real inquiry into the manner of the doctor’s death, however, the King was ready to do all he could in the painful circumstances. The desired proclamation was already being published in the different quarters of the town, and a price had been set on the heads of the servants. With regard to the funeral, as there was no Christian burial-ground anywhere in Ethiopia, Sir Dugald might choose a spot in the royal gardens outside the city, and that spot should be fenced off and held sacred. Deputations from the Ethiopian army and council should be present at the ceremony, and Rustam Khan should also attend it as his father’s representative. In the meantime, to show the King’s deep regret for the misunderstanding which had existed during the last few days between himself and Sir Dugald, the guard of soldiers would be removed from the front of the Mission, and the country-people informed that they might bring their produce to sell as usual.

It was Stratford and Fitz to whom fell the task of riding out to the King’s garden and selecting the site of the first Christian cemetery in Ethiopia. They chose a spot on the border of the estate, which could be easily marked off from the rest, and the official who had accompanied them gave the necessary orders to the workmen. The funeral was to take place in the late afternoon, and there was need for haste. Fitz and Stratford had ridden out almost in silence; but as they mounted their horses for the return journey to Kubbet-ul-Haj, Fitz looked back at the garden and shuddered.

“I wonder how many of us will lie there before this business is over!” he said, only to be annihilated by Stratford’s reply—

“Shut up, you young fool, and don’t croak. Your business is to obey orders, and not to wonder.”

The boy relapsed into sulky silence at once, and brooded all the way home over the disgusting state of Stratford’s temper, never guessing that it was with this very end in view, of detaching his thoughts from the tragedy of the morning, that the rebuke had been administered to him. In the courtyard of the Mission they found Dick engaged in superintending the preparations for the funeral, and Stratford noticed at once that among the riding-horses, which were those presented by the King a few days before, there were two hired mules carrying a curtained litter.

“Surely the ladies are not going?” he said to Dick.

“They are, indeed. Lady Haigh declared that she could never face the doctor’s mother if she was unable to tell her in what kind of place he was buried, and what the funeral was like, and it struck the Chief that it was just possible they might be safer with us than left behind here under Kustendjian’s charge. Our force is none too large now, you know.”

And thus it happened that Lady Haigh and Georgia formed part of the mournful procession that accompanied the doctor’s rude coffin to its resting-place in the King’s garden. The streets and house-tops were crowded with people, who gazed eagerly and in silence at the British flag which covered the remains, and at the little group of Englishmen, sad-faced and stern, who followed. Many of those in the crowd owed relief from disease, or even life itself, to Dr Headlam’s skill, yet no sign of grief was exhibited by any one. But neither was there any attempt at mockery or sign of unfriendliness; the people seemed to watch the proceedings with intense and absorbing curiosity, much, thought Georgia, as the inhabitants of Mexico might have contemplated a religious ceremony performed by Cortes and his Spaniards. The same interest was shown at the cemetery, where another crowd had assembled, that listened expectantly to the unfamiliar accents as Sir Dugald read the Burial Service, and pressed forward eagerly to see what was happening when Lady Haigh and Georgia came to the grave-side and threw their flowers upon the coffin. The party from the Mission remained beside the grave until it was filled up and a rough wooden tablet erected, bearing the doctor’s name and the date of his death, and then returned sadly home, parting from Rustam Khan and his attendants as soon as they reached the city gate.

Now that the last honours had been paid to the dead, it was time, as Sir Dugald had said to Dick, to think of the living, and the four Englishmen and Kustendjian met on the terrace to discuss the state of affairs. The latest cause for anxiety arose from the fact that Rustam Khan had shown a strong disposition to emphasise the truth that he attended the funeral merely as the representative of his father. He had declined to ride side by side with Sir Dugald after the coffin, and had displayed a determination, which under less painful circumstances would have been almost ludicrous, to avoid direct communication with any of the party.

“The moral of which is,” said Sir Dugald, “that we are by no means out of the wood yet, but rather deeper in it than before, if possible. If Rustam Khan is afraid to be seen speaking to us, or even to show the friendly feeling the occasion might seem to demand, it looks to my mind as though he knew that he had been accused to his father of plotting with us to deprive him of the throne, and wished to assert his innocence.”

“It strikes one that such a very pointed change of manner would be calculated to awaken suspicion rather than to lull it,” said Stratford—“though, of course, Rustam Khan must be the best judge of that. But we are singularly destitute of information to-day. Even Hicks would be better than no one.”

“Mr Hicks came here after you had started,” said Kustendjian, who had been left in charge of the Mission during the funeral. “He would have wished to attend the ceremony at the grave, but he had only just heard what had happened, since all the morning he was suffering from a fit of indigestion, induced by the dishes at the Vizier’s dinner last night.”

“Well, it’s evident that he was not poisoned,” said Dick, “for Fath-ud-Din would have done his work more effectually, for one thing; and again, I know that I have invariably had the same experience myself after a big native dinner in India or Khemistan. But he seems to be no better provided with news than we are. I wonder what has become of Jahan Beg.”

“That is just the question that has occurred to me,” said Sir Dugald. “It is possible that his house is watched, and that he does not dare to come here. But I hope his silence may mean merely that he has found a good opportunity for sending off his messenger, and that he did not wait for despatches or further directions from me, but packed him off at once.”

“But supposing you hear, in the course of the next two or three weeks, that the force you want is awaiting your orders at Fort Rahmat-Ullah, what action do you propose to take, sir?” asked Dick.

“Simply to inform the King that I am about to withdraw the Mission. If he will send troops to escort us to the frontier, as he did when we came, it will be all right; but, if not, I shall order a sufficient force to march to our assistance. It would not be a military expedition, of course—merely a baggage-train with an armed escort—but the King could not refuse it passage without open war. That would necessitate his throwing himself into the arms of Scythia, which he is very shy of doing; and it is my impression that when he discovers we have the help we need at no great distance, he will change his mind, sign the treaty, and allow us to take back to Khemistan peace with honour.”

“But he would naturally begin a war, if he did decide upon one, by wiping out the Mission,” suggested Dick, “or he might provide us with an escort which had instructions to murder us all on the way. It would come to pretty much the same thing in either case, so far as we were concerned.”

“Risks of that kind one must take in the course of business,” said Sir Dugald. “We can’t very well remain permanently at Kubbet-ul-Haj on our present footing, but we will do our best to avoid playing the part of victims in another Kurd-Cabul disaster.”

“Do you think they will make any further attempts to induce us to accept their treaty, Sir Dugald?” asked Stratford.

“I think it is fairly certain that they will, believing that we have been thrown off our guard by their friendliness to-day. As soon as Fath-ud-Din is about again, we shall probably have him here, trying his old tricks once more; but I have a pleasant little surprise in store for him. I shall make it clear that all negotiations are to be carried on at this house, and that neither I nor any of you will go to the Palace on any business whatever connected with the treaty. I am not going to risk the loss of any more lives by dividing our force, but I shall not tell him that. It will be a disagreeable shock to him to find that we only become stiffer in our demands as our position grows more precarious, and he will think we possess some sort of moral support behind the scenes of which he is ignorant.”

“What a fire-eater the Chief is!” said Stratford later to Dick. “He ought to have commanded one of Nelson’s line-of-battle ships, and engaged a whole French fleet before he went down with guns double-shotted and colours flying.”

“A regular old fighting-cock!” said Dick, affectionately. “If we hadn’t had the ladies with us, we should have seen him bearding the King in the Palace itself, and defying Fath-ud-Din and the whole Ethiopian army to their faces, I’m convinced. As it is—well, our prospects don’t look particularly brilliant just now, but I feel that if there is a man on earth who can get us out of this fix, it’s the Chief.”

They were superintending the removal of the collection from Dr Headlam’s desolate house to the Mission, and gathering together such poor scraps of personal property as the marauders had overlooked or left behind as worthless, to take home to his mother. When the place was cleared they locked the door and delivered the key to the landlord, who received it with a gloomy face, remarking that he never expected to be able to find another tenant. Dick thought that he was attempting to gain an increase of the substantial rent (as things go in Ethiopia), which had already been paid him, but the landlord had gauged correctly the character of his fellow-citizens. The house stood empty for a long time, gaining a bad reputation without any tangible reason; but at last, for an ample remuneration, a man was found bold enough to sleep there, in order to prove that there was nothing wrong about the place. But that bold man let himself down over the wall into the street in the middle of the night by means of his turban, leaving his mattress behind him; and the next day he told his friends that he had been awakened by hearing the well-known clink of a medicine-bottle against the measuring-glass, and, cautiously uncovering his head, had looked out to see the ghost of the English doctor standing at a phantom table and mixing immaterial drugs. That was enough, and the house was left desolate until it ultimately fell into decay.

But this is anticipating, and we must return to the days when the presence of a British envoy was an abiding reality in Kubbet-ul-Haj, and not the shadowy tradition which it has since become. For a day or two the party at the Mission were left undisturbed, although the absence of any message from Jahan Beg robbed their tranquillity of some of its attractiveness. The enforced seclusion within the walls of the house could not fail to tell on the spirits of most of them; but it was a point of honour with all to maintain an appearance of cheerfulness for the sake of the rest, and those who possessed hobbies found them a great help in this endeavour. Stratford studied Ethiopian, Dick laboured at the map of the country which he had begun during the journey from the frontier to the city, and Fitz, who was the unresisting victim of a camera which accompanied him wherever he went, photographed everything and everybody. Georgia had an object of interest peculiarly her own in the perplexing conduct of Dick, who had changed his place at meals, and contrived always to secure a seat between Lady Haigh and herself, so that he could appropriate the first cup of tea or coffee poured out, which it was naturally his duty to pass on to Miss Keeling. Georgia pondered over this behaviour of his for some little time without gaining any light upon it, and at last opened her mind to her usual confidante.

“Lady Haigh, have you noticed the queer way in which Major North behaves at meals? He won’t pass things, and I am sure it isn’t through absence of mind, for he apologises at the time, and looks so dreadfully confused.”

“Well, my dear child, I am sure there is nothing in all this for which to blame him. Certainly you ought to be the very last person to complain.”

“I, Lady Haigh?”

“Is it possible that you don’t guess his reason, Georgie?”

“Really and truly I haven’t an idea what it can be.”

“Then I think you ought to be enlightened. You remember that paper which the poor doctor left, in which he warned us that you would probably be the next of us to be attacked? Well, Major North doesn’t mean you to be poisoned if he can prevent it. That’s all, and it explains his eccentric behaviour fully.”

“Oh!” Georgia sat silent, a vivid crimson spreading over her face. “But it isn’t fair that he should be allowed to risk his life in that way, Lady Haigh,” she said at last.

“Very well, my dear; tell him so.”

“But that would sound so ungrateful. Couldn’t you tell him?”

“I could say that you would prefer to be poisoned rather than to be helped after him, certainly.”

“Oh, Lady Haigh, you are unkind; you know it isn’t that! It is that I can’t bear him to be always running the risk of being poisoned instead of me.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, I should say that was a matter for Major North to decide for himself.”

“Excuse me—I think it is a thing for me to decide.”

“My dear Georgie, you are very persistent. I can only repeat—settle it yourself with Major North.”

But as Lady Haigh had foreseen, Georgia decided that it was not advisable to broach the subject to Dick, and the matter was therefore left untouched.

CHAPTER XII.
THE STANDARD-BEARER FALLS.

Sir Dugald’s prophecy as to the probable resumption of negotiations on the part of the Ethiopians proved correct, for within a week after the doctor’s death Fath-ud-Din, now completely recovered from his illness, appeared once more at the Mission. As the visit was ostensibly one of condolence, Sir Dugald granted him an interview; but when the Vizier had spent the orthodox length of time in bemoaning the loss of Dr Headlam, and in remarking piously, for the consolation of his host, that these things were ordered by fate and could not be averted, he turned suddenly to business. Taking from the hands of his confidential scribe, who alone of all his attendants had accompanied him into the Durbar-hall, a roll of parchment which bore a family likeness to the various abortive treaties already discussed and rejected, he presented it to Sir Dugald and requested him to read it. Sir Dugald had now become so much accustomed to mental exercises of the kind that he could detect an unsound clause by eye or by instinct rather than by actual perception; but for the sake of appearances he beckoned to Kustendjian to come and read the document through to him quickly. When the reading was finished Kustendjian was pale with excitement, and Stratford and Dick were looking at one another in bewilderment over Sir Dugald’s head, for, with the exception of one or two minute alterations affecting the wording rather than the matter, the treaty was identical with that first agreed to, and ever since rejected by the King and Fath-ud-Din. That estimable person now sat smiling benevolently at the astonished faces of his hosts, and, while their eyes were still fixed upon him, began to make significant passes of the thumb of his right hand over the forefinger—a gesture which was immediately understood by all the members of the party except Fitz, for whom this journey was his first experience of Eastern life.

“So that’s it!” muttered Sir Dugald. “How much do you want, Fath-ud-Din?”

With a pained smile, directed towards the scribe, who was obviously watching the transaction while pretending to be absorbed in the study of the tiled floor, the Vizier held up his right hand, with the second finger turned down.

“Oh, nonsense!” said Sir Dugald. “You can’t afford to do it for that, you know. Or is there any other little thing we could do for you besides? Out with it; we are all friends here.”

“The life of man is uncertain,” sighed Fath-ud-Din.

“Quite so—especially in Ethiopia,” responded Sir Dugald.

“Even kings cannot rule for ever,” went on the Vizier.

“I quite agree with you;” yet Sir Dugald became portentously stern all at once.

“And happy is he to whom a son is given that may sit on his throne after him.”

“True. His Majesty is in that fortunate position.”

“But the son granted to him is young and tender, and there are those who might dispute his claim. How great, then, would be his felicity if the mighty Queen whom my lord serves would acknowledge, by the hand of her servant, the child’s right of succession, and grant him her countenance and the support of her soldiers!”

“I see. Fath-ud-Din stands to gain five thousand pounds, gentlemen,” said Sir Dugald, turning to his staff; “and when the king is removed from the scene, we are to acknowledge Antar Khan as his successor, and back him up with moral and physical force. How does that strike you?”

“It strikes me that the King had better set about making his will,” said Stratford, grimly, “if you accept the terms.”

“That is exactly the impression which the proposal has produced on me,” returned Sir Dugald; “and, as I have no wish to be accessory to a sudden change of ruler in Ethiopia, I think it will be as well to inform Fath-ud-Din that we must decline to do business with him on this footing.”

He folded up the treaty, rising at the same time to show that the interview was ended, and handed back the parchment to the Grand Vizier, who had been observing him in silence.

“Her Majesty’s Government has an objection to interfering in dynastic questions,” said Sir Dugald, pointedly; “and, when it does interest itself in such a matter, it prefers to adopt the cause of the elder son.”

“There are other governments of Europe,” said Fath-ud-Din, with equal meaning, “which are quite willing to take the side of the younger. If the first purchaser will not pay me the price I ask for my sheep, I will take them further and find one who will.”

“I can only admire your Excellency’s keen business qualities,” returned Sir Dugald, as he escorted his visitor to the door. But no sooner was the Vizier’s train outside the gate than the scribe came back in haste, saying that his master had missed a valuable ring, which he must have dropped somewhere in the house. Half suspecting a trap, but yet determined to give no ground for an accusation of lukewarmness, Sir Dugald had the courtyard searched, and the rugs in the Durbar-hall taken up and shaken. But all was in vain until one of the servants, who had removed the tray of coffee which had been brought in out of compliment to the Vizier, came back into the room, and, with a salaam, produced the ring, which he had found at the bottom of Sir Dugald’s cup, and which the scribe seized upon immediately with a cry of triumph.

“Well, I’m glad that turned out all right,” said Dick, when the man had gone off rejoicing. “I was afraid it was a trap, and that they meant to accuse us of stealing the thing. Dim memories began to come over me of a book I read when I was a small boy, in which a virtuous family were imprisoned and tortured and given a bad time generally on account of a false accusation of having stolen a ring, and I must own that I had unpleasant forebodings as to the probable course of justice in Ethiopia.”

“I confess that I began to suspect they had hidden it somewhere,” said Sir Dugald, “and would try to make out that we had accepted it as a bribe.”

“Of course it must have dropped in when he handed you the treaty,” said Stratford; “but it’s queer that no one noticed it.”

“One of the ‘things no feller can understand,’” quoted Sir Dugald, absently. “If you will find your way to the terrace, gentlemen, where I see Lady Haigh is just pouring out tea, I will follow you as soon as I have given an order to Ismail Bakhsh.”

Stratford, Dick, and Kustendjian crossed the court slowly, still discussing the incident of the ring, and, mounting the steps, perceived that Fitz had reached the terrace before them, and was engaged in conducting the education of the Persian kitten. He had an idea that it was possible, by dint of kindness and perseverance, to teach any animal to perform an unlimited number of tricks; but so far his theory did not appear to be justified by facts in the case of Colleen Bawn. At this moment he was holding a stick a few inches from the ground, and endeavouring, by means of bribes and encouragement, to induce his pupil to jump over it. Lady Haigh and Georgia were laughing at his efforts, and the kitten sat watching him with unconcerned interest, blinking lazily every now and then with one contemptuous blue eye and one uncomprehending yellow one.

“Now, you little beggar, this won’t do! I shall have to take you in hand seriously. I won’t hurt the little beast, Miss Keeling. You don’t imagine I would? But I must teach it to obey orders.”

He seized the white mass of fluff which ignored his blandishments so calmly, and proceeded to place it in the required position. The result was a short scuffle, from which the kitten retired in high dudgeon to seek refuge under Georgia’s chair, leaving Fitz defeated, with a long scratch on the back of his hand.

“Oh, Mr Anstruther, you have hurt her!” cried Georgia, reproachfully.

“I think she has hurt me,” was Fitz’s resentful answer.

“Poor little thing! I think she is only frightened,” said Lady Haigh. “We will give her some milk”—and she filled a saucer, and, stooping down, tried to tempt Colleen Bawn out of her hiding-place.

It was at this moment that the rest, standing at the edge of the terrace, saw Sir Dugald coming through the archway from Bachelors’ Buildings.

“What in the world is the matter with the Chief?” whispered Stratford, quickly; for Sir Dugald was walking as though his feet refused to carry him in a straight line: first a few steps to the right, then a valiant attempt to reach the steps, then a divergence to the left. The men on the terrace watched him in amazement and horror.

“He walks as though he was drunk!” said Kustendjian, in a voice of bewilderment.

“I wish to goodness he might be!” was the astonishing aspiration which broke from Dick as he ran down into the court, while Stratford turned a look upon the interpreter which made him shake in his shoes.

“Give me your arm up the steps, North,” said Sir Dugald, looking at Dick in a puzzled, almost appealing fashion. “I don’t feel very well. Is Anstruther there?”

“Yes, sir. Do you want him to write anything?”

“Yes. It must be done at once.”

They had reached the top of the steps, and the horrified group on the terrace saw that Sir Dugald’s face was working strangely, and that his lips were twitching and refused to be controlled.

“Dugald,” cried his wife, rushing to him, “you are ill! Come indoors and lie down;” but he pushed her away from him with a shaking hand.

“Not yet, not yet,” he said, impatiently. “Sit down, Anstruther, and write. Quick!” as the boy’s frightened fingers bungled over their task. “Say this: ‘Fearing the approach of severe illness, I hereby appoint Egerton Stratford to the command of this Mission until her Majesty’s pleasure is known, charging him——’” here he became incapable of speech for a moment, and passed his hand over his lips to steady them—“‘to secure, if possible, the conclusion of the treaty originally agreed upon; but in any case to conduct the Mission back to British territory without provoking, for any cause whatever, a conflict with the Ethiopian authorities.’ Now let me sign it.”

He sat down heavily in the chair which Fitz vacated, and groaned aloud as the pen dropped from his fingers.

“Let me guide your hand, dearest,” whispered Lady Haigh, restoring him the pen; but once more he motioned her aside, and, steadying his right hand with his left, succeeded, with infinite difficulty, in inscribing his name in large crooked characters.

He succeeded, with infinite difficulty, in inscribing his name in large crooked characters.

“Now witness it. Witness it all of you,” he said, with feverish anxiety, and they all added their names to the paper as witnesses. When the last signature was written Sir Dugald’s head sank on his breast, and Lady Haigh darted to his side with a cry which none of those who heard it will ever forget.

“Dugald, not dead? and without a word to me!”

“Dear Lady Haigh,” said Georgia, gaining her voice first, and choking back her tears, “he is not dead. I think it is some kind of paralytic seizure. He may recover very soon. If we can get him indoors I shall be able to see better what it is.”

“If you will take his left arm, Mr Stratford,” said Lady Haigh, in a hard, even voice, “we can support him to his room. Please come with us, Georgie.”

Dick stepped forward to offer his help, but Lady Haigh refused to relinquish her position, and she and Stratford half-carried the unconscious form across the terrace and into the house. It struck those who were left behind with a fresh pang as they realised that in the course of the past few weeks Sir Dugald’s iron-grey hair had turned quite white.

“What do you think?” asked Dick, when Stratford returned presently and sat down in silence.

“Heaven help us!” was the sole answer; and the group on the terrace waited there in speechless anxiety for more than an hour. The sun, as it neared its setting, began to cast the long shadows of the walls across the courtyard; the kitten curled itself into a ball of white fur in the middle of Georgia’s embroidery without rebuke, and still the four men waited, struck dumb by this sudden blow. At last Georgia came out and sat down in Lady Haigh’s place. There were traces of tears on her face, but she spoke in what Dick called her professional manner as they all looked at her, hesitating to ask the question whose answer they feared to hear.

“It is paralysis,” she said; “but I have never seen a case with quite the same symptoms.”

“All this worry has been too much for the Chief,” said Stratford, indignantly. “The Government had no business to send so old a man on such an errand so ill-supported. What with all he has gone through, and the shock of the doctor’s death, it is no wonder that he should break down.”

“I don’t know who started the idea of this precious Mission,” growled Dick, “but if any of us get back to Khemistan, we shall have something to say about the way they carried it out.”

“I think that perhaps poor Sir Dugald preferred to come with a small party, and to be left very much to his own responsibility,” suggested Georgia. “He has often said how much he hated being trammelled by directions from people at a distance who knew nothing of the circumstances.”

“Still, they should have arranged some safe means by which he might communicate with them in case of necessity, instead of camel-posts which stopped running just when they were most wanted,” persisted Dick. “The responsibility has been too much for any one man.”

“I have an idea,” said Georgia, with some hesitation, “that the case is not quite so simple as you think. I have attended a large number of paralytic cases, but I have never met with symptoms quite like these. Sir Dugald has now passed into a state more resembling coma—that is to say, he is apparently asleep, but cannot be awakened. He seems incapable of originating any movement, and yet I am almost convinced that he is partially conscious of what is going on around him. He cannot speak or open his eyes; but his limbs are not rigid, and I believe he is alive to sensations of physical pain.”

“But to what conclusions do these observations lead you, Miss Keeling?” asked Stratford.

“It is merely a conjecture of mine, but I think I have one or two other facts to support it. I believe that this attack is the result of the administration of poison.”

“Poison!” broke from her hearers in various tones of incredulity; and Stratford added, “With all deference to you, Miss Keeling, I can’t help thinking that you are generalising too hastily from the circumstances of poor Headlam’s death. What opportunity has there been for poisoning the Chief that would not have affected all of us equally?”

“Chanda Lal said something to Lady Haigh about a ring.”

“Fath-ud-Din’s ring!” The men looked at one another for a moment, then Stratford spoke again.

“But we are not in the days of the Borgias now. How could these people have become acquainted with such a trick as that?”

“Surely,” said Georgia, “it is more likely that the Borgias owed their methods to the East than that the East borrowed from them? We have learnt already, by sad experience, that Fath-ud-Din is a most expert poisoner, and we can guess that he would consider it to be to his interest to rid himself of Sir Dugald.”

“The thing is absolutely impossible,” said Dick, not considering the rudeness of his language. Georgia looked at him in some surprise.

“I may tell you that it was from examination of the symptoms that I first formed my theory, Major North, and that it was only when I was trying to find out whether there had been any opportunity of administering poison that I heard of the ring from Chanda Lal.”

“But are you acquainted with any poison which would produce exactly these effects?” asked Stratford. The rest waited eagerly for the reply, and their faces fell when Georgia answered—

“No, I am not. There are circumstances connected with the illness which I cannot explain by attributing it to the action of any specific poison of which I have ever heard. But you must have noticed in the papers about ten years ago various references to certain Asiatic poisons, the nature of which was quite unknown to Western medical men. It was supposed that a poison of this kind had been administered to a particular ruler whom it was desired to dethrone, and that it acted in such a way as to paralyse his will and his powers of mind. I do not say that this is the same poison—in fact I believe it can’t be, for that was supposed not to affect the physical powers in any way—but I think that this belongs to the same class. You saw how poor Sir Dugald struggled against the effects; only a man of indomitable will could have held out as he did. But he could not continue to resist, and when he had attained his great object, and signed that paper, his will-power collapsed suddenly. It is just possible that if the emergency had continued to exist, he might have held out, and succeeded in throwing off the effects of the poison.”

“And you really think it possible that enough poison to produce such results as these could be contained in that ring?” asked Stratford.

“I do; and I want you to help me to persuade Lady Haigh to allow me to try the effect of different antidotes. She is so thoroughly convinced that the attack is a simple paralytic seizure, brought on by overwork and worry, that she refuses to let me make trial of any strong remedies lest they should retard Sir Dugald’s recovery. But I am very much afraid that unless we can expel the poison from the system, or at any rate neutralise it, he will not recover at all.”

“I wish we had a proper surgeon here!” said Dick, rising and walking restlessly up and down.

“We have,” cried Fitz, bristling up at once in defence of Georgia.

“I meant a medical man,” said Dick, casting a stony glance at him.

“It seems to me, North,” put in Stratford, “that you forget we ought to be very thankful to have a doctor here at all. You can’t mean to imply that it makes any difference that—that——”

“That I have the misfortune to be a woman, as Major North thinks,” said Georgia, quietly.

“Well, I know that I would never let a lady doctor touch me if I was ill,” said Dick, with painful candour.

“I don’t think there are many that would care to,” snapped Fitz, who was boiling over with rage.

“Anstruther, you forget yourself,” said Stratford. “Miss Keeling, I must ask you to forgive us. We have been so much upset by what has happened that we really can’t look at things coolly. We know that North has always been an obstinate heretic on this subject, but I’m sure I need not tell you that if he was really ill he would be only too grateful if you would do what you could for him. Still, in the present case——”

“Yes?” said Georgia, eagerly, as he paused.

“It is such a fearful risk. If you could say definitely what poison you suspected, or even if we had any independent proof that poison had been administered at all, I would add my voice to yours in trying to persuade Lady Haigh to adopt your views; but as it is, you must confess that they are built up of a succession of hypotheses, and if the hypotheses are false, your treatment might do irremediable harm by weakening the patient to such an extent that he would have no power to rally from what may, after all, be what you called just now a simple paralytic seizure. You are quite convinced of the truth of your theory, I suppose?”

“I would stake my professional reputation upon it,” said Georgia; “but I suppose”—throwing back her head proudly—“that it would be quite useless to try to convince any one here that my reputation is as much to me as a professional man’s is to him. But it is not that—it is to see poor Sir Dugald lying there insensible, and Lady Haigh so miserable about him, and not to be allowed to try what I believe would set him right. After all”—her tone changed—“I am the doctor here, and I am not answerable to any one in authority. Why should I not try the remedies which commend themselves to me?”

“Scarcely without the consent of the patient’s friends——” began Stratford, puzzled by this new development; but Dick interposed roughly enough.

“No, Miss Keeling. If your hypothesis proved to be incorrect, and the result turned out badly, it might become a manslaughter case. It is quite out of the question that you should be allowed either to run such a risk yourself, or to expose the Chief to it, and I shall back Stratford up in preventing you from attempting anything of the kind you propose.”

“By force, I presume?” asked Georgia, sarcastically. “You seem to be losing sight of the fact that, if my theory is correct, it would be incurring the same guilt not to take the steps I recommend, Major North.”

“Allow me to say, Miss Keeling, that there are very few juries that would not prefer the opinion of four men to that of one lady.”

“I can quite believe it,” returned Georgia, scornfully, “after what I have heard to-day. It would make no difference that the woman was an M.D. of London, and that none of the men knew enough of medicine to describe the symptoms of arsenical poisoning. They must know best. Oh, I might have known that when Lady Haigh refused to listen to me there was no hope of getting four men to look at things in a less biassed way. She turned against me because anxiety for her husband has blinded her judgment for the time, but your opposition springs from mere prejudice. Thank you for the things you have been saying, Major North. One conversation of this kind teaches one more than months of ordinary conventional intercourse. If I were not so angry, I could laugh to think that we are wrangling here while poor Sir Dugald is lying in this helpless state—and that you should all combine to prevent my doing what I can for him, simply because I happen to be a woman!”

“I think you are a little unjust, Miss Keeling,” said Stratford. “My objection is not that you are a woman, but that you confess you cannot be certain of the facts of the case.”

“How could any one be certain under the present circumstances, unless Fath-ud-Din had confessed openly what he had done, and contributed a specimen of the poison for analysis? You know that if Dr Headlam had been alive you would not have thought of questioning what he saw fit to do. I only ask for fair play. Chivalry I don’t expect—perhaps it is as well that I don’t under the circumstances—but I have a right to ask for the justice that would be shown to a man in my position.”

And Georgia gathered up her work and the kitten, and retired very deliberately, with the honours of war, leaving the men disinclined for further conversation. Kustendjian betook himself to his own quarters, where he was in the habit of donning a semi-oriental costume in which to take his ease after work was done; and Stratford, accompanied by Fitz, who had listened with a certain mournful pride to Georgia’s indictment of North, adjourned to the office, there to compile the regular account of the proceedings of the day. When the record was complete, and Fitz had returned to the terrace, Stratford, who had lingered to arrange the papers in the safe, was surprised by the entrance of Dick, who lounged in moodily without saying anything, and propped himself against the wall.

“Why don’t you tell me that I am a dismal fool and a howling cad?” he inquired at last.

“If you know it already, though it’s rather late in the day now, it can’t be much good my repeating the information,” said Stratford, drily.

“Oh, go on! Swear at me, call me names—anything you like! I am positively yearning for a thorough good slanging—might make me feel a little better.”

“Then I should recommend you to apply to Miss Keeling. I don’t fancy you’ll want to repeat the experience.”

“Stratford, tell me what I am to do. I can’t think what possessed me just now. Of course, it stands to reason that we couldn’t allow her to do what she wanted. If she tried her experiments, and the Chief died, she would probably let herself in for an inquiry when we got back to Khemistan. Her name would be bandied about all over the place, and every wretched native penny-a-liner in India would be cooking up articles to reflect on medical women.”

“And, by way of improving matters, you gave her a taste of the sort of thing beforehand. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that Miss Keeling would probably care comparatively little for having her name bandied about in the papers if she was convinced that her friends—and I suppose you would call yourself one—believed in her.”

Dick stared. “But that’s all rot, you know!” he said. “If a woman won’t look after herself in those ways, one must do it for her. To think of her becoming the subject of bazaar gup!—why, you know, one couldn’t allow it. No, I’m not a bit sorry that I took her in hand and quenched her aspirations; but I am perfectly sick when I think of the way I did it. If she hadn’t taken it for granted that she was in the right all the time, I shouldn’t have got so mad; but it makes a man look such a cub to—to lose his temper when he’s arguing with a lady. As she said, I have done myself more harm with her to-day than months would undo. How can I put it right?”

“I haven’t a notion,” responded Stratford, cheerfully. “Any one would have thought from your manner that you were bidding successfully for a final rupture. Of course, the only possible thing to do is to apologise. As a gentleman, you can’t avoid that, but I doubt whether it will do you much good. If you will excuse my saying it, North, I think you have tried this Revolt-of-Man business once too often.”

“Rub it in!” said Dick, mournfully. “The harder the better.”

“Oh, get out!” cried Stratford. “This office isn’t a confessional. Eat your humble pie as soon as you get the chance, and be jolly thankful if your penitence is accepted. That’s all I have to say. Now clear out. Why, I have more hope of young Anstruther than of you. The way that cub has been licked into shape is wonderful. Three months ago he would have been at your throat for half the things you said to-day. Slope!”

Dick departed, but he found no opportunity of following the counsel of his too candid friend. The men dined alone that night, and neither Lady Haigh nor Georgia appeared on the terrace afterwards. The next morning, as there was no change in Sir Dugald’s condition, Lady Haigh ventured, at Georgia’s earnest request, to leave him to the care of Chanda Lal while she presided as usual at the late breakfast. Dick took the place next to her, which he had occupied of late, and secured for himself the first cup of coffee, as he invariably did.

“Major North,” said Georgia, shortly, “will you kindly pass me my coffee?”

Taken by surprise, Dick did as she asked, and her eyes met his in a defiant glance as she raised the cup to her lips. He read her meaning at once. She would have none of his protection; she preferred, indeed, to run the risk of being poisoned rather than owe immunity from such a fate to him. The realisation of this fact cut him more deeply than anything she had said the day before, and he began to regret the temerity with which he had plunged into the fray, although in talking to Stratford he had scouted the idea of entertaining such a feeling.

About an hour later, when Georgia, after careful reconnoitring to make sure that the coast was clear, had settled herself in a shady corner of the terrace to study in peace a work on poisons which she had found among Dr Headlam’s books, she was surprised by the sudden appearance of the man whom she least desired to see. He had evidently been engaged in inspecting the stores in the cellars under the terrace, for the first intimation she had of his vicinity was the sight of him as he came up the steps.

“I want to ask you to forgive me for what I said yesterday, Miss Keeling,” he said, standing before her.

“Can you forgive yourself?” asked Georgia, quickly.

“Not for the way in which I spoke—nor indeed for the things I said, but I think you would look more leniently on them if you realised that it was anxiety for you that prompted them.”

“Thank you,” said Georgia, raising her eyebrows, “but I am afraid that my poor feminine mind is scarcely capable of appreciating an anxiety which displays itself in such a marked—I might almost say such an unpleasant way. Perhaps you will kindly understand, after this, that I had rather be without it.”

It was undignified, she knew, but she could not resist the temptation to repay him in his own coin. Last night she had been angry and indignant when she realised how much his words had hurt her, and it gave her now a kind of vengeful pleasure to feel that she was hurting him.

“You are very cruel,” he said, “but perhaps I deserve it.”

“Perhaps?” Georgia sat upright, and her eyes flashed. “Major North, you conceived a prejudice against me the first time you saw me in the spring, and you spared no pains to make it evident. Thinking that you might possibly imagine yourself to have a just cause of complaint against me, on account of what happened long ago, although I should have thought it wiser and more dignified for both of us to forget the circumstance, I have done my best, for Mab’s sake, to treat you as I should wish to be able to treat her brother. I had begun to hope that you also had recognised the advantage of continuing our acquaintance on this footing, and I have been in the habit lately of speaking to you more freely than I should have cared to do to a declared enemy. In return, you do your utmost to humiliate me in the presence of Mr Kustendjian and Mr Anstruther. You have taught me a lesson; I confess that I have taken some time in learning it, but I shall not make mistakes in future.”

“Then you won’t even let us be friends?”

“I think it will be better not, Major North. The honour of your friendship is rather a trying one for the recipient; a stranger might even mistake it for enmity. It will relieve you of the unpleasant necessity of showing your friendship if we remain henceforth on the footing of mere acquaintances.”

“Have a little pity for me, Georgie.”

If Dick had meant to make Georgia look at him, he had succeeded now. The glance she gave him withered him into silence.

“You forget yourself, Major North. At least, I have never given you reason to insult me.”

CHAPTER XIII.
A PROFESSIONAL SUMMONS.

The long hours of another day and night dragged slowly away, and Sir Dugald’s condition remained unchanged. The sight of her husband lying on his bed with half-closed eyes, speechless and incapable of changing his position, moved Lady Haigh to a fervent hope that Georgia’s conjecture as to his partial consciousness of what passed around him might not be true. To know himself absolutely powerless, to perceive that things were going wrong but to be unable to rectify them, she could imagine no keener torment for a man of his stamp. If he continued in this state, she said to herself remorsefully, as she administered the liquids which were the only nourishment he could swallow, she would be inclined to allow Georgia to have her way, in spite of the misgivings of Stratford and North, for nothing could be worse than this living death. Even now, “If you could only tell me you were sure it was poison, Georgie dear,” she said, “I would put him into your hands unreservedly; but as it is, the risk is too fearful. He is all I have, you know.” And although Georgia regretted the decision, it did not affect her as the opposition of the men had done, for she knew that Lady Haigh would have withstood any male doctor with exactly the same pertinacity under the circumstances.

The political duties of the Mission were somewhat in abeyance just now, for Sir Dugald’s illness rendered it impossible to initiate any fresh diplomatic action, and this enforced idleness had a bad effect on the spirits of all. Even Fitz had lost his cheerfulness, and the kitten escaped its daily lesson in gymnastics. Kustendjian, his services as interpreter not being required, spent most of his time in his own quarters, where, as he informed Stratford with appropriate seriousness of demeanour, he occupied himself in making his will several times over, and in writing farewell letters to his friends. In spite, or perhaps in consequence, of the lack of active occupation, however, the post which Sir Dugald had bequeathed to Stratford promised to be no sinecure, and more especially as Dick, since his interview with Georgia, had been in a villainously bad temper, and snapped at every one in a way that made his friend long to kick him.

“They all want a desperate emergency to calm them down,” said the harassed commander to himself. “This monotonous life within four walls, full of suspense, would get on anybody’s nerves, and they will take to quarrelling soon. When that happens, it’s all up with us. I shall have to go and eat humble pie to Miss Keeling if this goes on, and ask her not to treat North quite so much like an officious stranger who has spoken to her without an introduction. As the acting head of affairs, I could put it to her that her method of exercising discipline has a distinctly bad effect on the morale of the force.”

The emergency which Stratford desired was closer at hand when he longed for it than he expected, and as is usually the case with emergencies, it did not arrive quite in the form which he would have chosen had his wishes been consulted. Its inception was marked by the in no way unusual event of the arrival of Fath-ud-Din, desiring to reopen negotiations, on the morning of the second day after Sir Dugald’s seizure. All the day before, so the Vizier averred, he had been expecting to receive a message summoning him back to the Mission, and announcing that his terms were accepted. Hearing nothing, he might well have gone straight to the Scythian envoy and entered into an arrangement with him, but so great was the esteem which he felt for the English, and especially for the members of the present expedition, and so high was the King’s appreciation of the power and good fortune of the British Empire, that he was loath to bring about a definite rupture of diplomatic relations. He had returned, therefore, to lay his offer once more before Sir Dugald, and to find out whether it was impossible to effect a compromise.

Stratford was by no means anxious to undertake the delicate task of endeavouring to resist the Vizier’s blandishments without turning him into an open enemy, and did his best to postpone the evil day by telling him that Sir Dugald was indisposed, and could not be troubled with business. But Fath-ud-Din displayed so much anxiety to see the Envoy, even though only for a moment, and in bed, that Stratford, in order to avoid the discovery of Sir Dugald’s real condition, no whisper of which had as yet been allowed to creep out into the town, was obliged to say that Sir Dugald must not be disturbed, but that the conduct of affairs had been delegated to himself.

Peace with Honour

Peace With Honour

COPYRIGHT.

DEDICATION.

CONTENTS.