FOR A CONSIDERATION.
“I can’t go on wasting time like this,” said Georgia to herself the
next morning as she stood on the terrace, drawn thither by the
fascination of the distant view of Bir-ul-Malikat. “Two whole days
have slipped away already, and I have not got a step nearer to
discovering the antidote, nor even to communicating with Khadija. What
am I to do? When those women and children came to ask for medicine
yesterday, I thought it was a hopeful sign, and I suppose that if I
stayed here long enough my fame might spread even as far as
Bir-ul-Malikat; but what good is that when Abd-ur-Rahim won’t hear of
our setting foot outside the walls? It was bad enough before, when I
knew Dick would be angry if I hinted at going over to pay Khadija a
visit, but I think I might have talked him round. I only wish the dear
boy was here now to be angry, instead of being taken out of the way
just when I had been thinking so unkindly about him. But I don’t see
how Abd-ur-Rahim is to be worked upon, unless any of his own wives or
children should happen to fall ill, and even then I am afraid I
shouldn’t be able to persuade him to let me leave the town, if only
for an hour or two. I wonder whether Rahah and I could concoct a
letter to Khadija, and whether we could get it taken to her if we did?
I should think we ought to be able to pique her curiosity, or perhaps
her covetousness, supposing that she could read the letter when she
got it. Let me see, what could we say?”
She knelt down with her arms on the parapet, and was revolving in her
mind honied sentences which might cover an even more tempting meaning,
and thus appeal to the witch’s cupidity, when her attention was
attracted by a moving object between her and Bir-ul-Malikat. Now that
the search for Dick had once more quitted the immediate neighbourhood
of the fortress, the solitude of the desert was so seldom disturbed by
any traveller that Georgia watched the approaching speck with
interest. As it came nearer she saw that it was a man mounted on a
donkey, but when it passed out of sight round the slope of the hill
she thought no more about it. Presently, however, Rahah came in hot
haste to seek her mistress.
“There is a messenger from Bir-ul-Malikat waiting outside the door, O
my lady, and he will not give his message to me. Is he to be allowed
to speak to you?”
“Oh, of course. Some one must be ill,” said Georgia, and she returned
indoors and donned her _burka_. The man whom she had seen riding
across the desert was standing in the outer hall at a suitable
distance from the doorway of the passage which led into the harem, and
the door was open to allow of conversation. The visitor was
respectably dressed, and had the appearance of a steward or other
responsible servant, but his first words were not calculated to
recommend his mission, at any rate as Rahah translated them.
“O doctor lady, Khadija, the mother of Yakub, sends thee greetings,
and desires thee to visit her at Bir-ul-Malikat.”
“Why?” asked Georgia. “Is she ill?”
“I know not,” answered the man, doggedly.
“Then why does she send for me?”
“That is her business. It is not for any man to dispute the will of
Khadija.”
Georgia pondered the matter for a moment. Her first impulse was to
accept the invitation which had arrived thus opportunely, but its tone
was so unpleasant that she began to suspect a trap. If her presence
was really needed, Khadija could well afford to send her a more
explicit message. It was evident that the matter was not one of life
and death, or more would have been made of it, and Georgia had a
lively recollection of the way in which she had been lured to the
Palace at Kubbet-ul-Haj, to warn her against putting faith in
mysterious messages. In any case, nothing could be lost, and the
respect in which she was held would probably increase, if she declined
to pay any attention to a summons worded as this one had been.
“I go nowhere unless the messenger tells me plainly why I am wanted,”
she said, sharply.
“That is not a reply to satisfy Khadija,” returned the messenger.
“Then she must find satisfaction elsewhere,” said Georgia.
“Her power is greater than the doctor lady knows.”
“Thou art a fool,” said Rahah, contemptuously, her wrath aroused by
the veiled threat. “My lady also has medicines. Is she likely to fear
Khadija?” and she dropped the curtain as a sign that the interview was
at an end.
The messenger departed baffled, but it was not without many misgivings
that Georgia heard his retreating footsteps crossing the tiled floor.
Had she acted foolishly in refusing so peremptorily the witch’s
request? It was possible that the terms in which it was couched had
been adopted merely in order to try her, and that she had lost once
for all the opportunity of gaining an entrance to Bir-ul-Malikat. The
thought troubled her a good deal, in spite of the persistence with
which she assured herself that it was only prudent to act as she had
done, and she wandered in and out of the various rooms, unable to
settle to any occupation, pausing now and then on the terrace to look
across the desert in case the messenger should be returning. Engrossed
in watching for him, she failed to notice the approach of another
traveller, and it was with some surprise that she received the news
which Rahah hurried out to bring her.
“O my lady, another messenger! He says that he is Yakub, the son of
Khadija, but he will not say why he is come.”
Once more Georgia assumed her _burka_ and went to interview the
visitor. He was a young man, somewhat foppishly dressed, and evidently
a dandy in his way, his appearance producing in Georgia’s mind the
impression that his mother had spoilt him as a boy, and now lavished
upon him all the money she had to spare. He came forward with a slight
swagger, and salaamed in rather a perfunctory way.
“O doctor lady, thy handmaid Khadija, my mother, sends thee greetings,
and entreats thee to visit her at Bir-ul-Malikat.”
“Why?” asked Georgia, with a directness which he seemed to find
embarrassing, for he fidgeted with his girdle as he replied--
“Nay, O doctor lady, is it strange that my mother, having heard of thy
fame, should be anxious to see thee?”
“But why does she not come here? Is she ill?”
“No; thanks be to God!” was the answer.
“Then is there any one ill in her house?”
“That is not for me to tell the doctor lady.”
“Then neither is it for the doctor lady to go there,” and Georgia was
about to retire into the harem again when he sprang forward.
“Let not the doctor lady turn away the light of her countenance from
her servant. There is one ill in the house.”
“But who is ill, and what is the matter with him or her?”
“I cannot tell. I have given my message.”
“You must tell me if I am to come.”
“But it is not in my power, O doctor lady! My mother has told me no
more than that, and I know only that it is one of the women.”
“In that case, my friend, you had better return to Bir-ul-Malikat at
once, and find out the age of the patient and her symptoms. Then I
will either give you medicine for her, or I will ask leave from
Abd-ur-Rahim to go and see her. It is absurd to come to me in this
way. I should have no idea what to take with me.”
“But it cannot be, O doctor lady. My mother will tell me no more than
I have told thee.”
“She must tell me more, if she wishes me to go and see her. You must
make her understand that unless she is perfectly open with me she need
not expect me to come. She can send me a letter if she likes, but I
must have some idea what is the matter.” And Georgia retired into the
interior of the harem, feeling that she was acting with a prudence
such as Stratford himself could not have exceeded. That caution was
necessary in this case she could not doubt. The repetition of the
message, and the persistent mystery in which it was enwrapped, had
raised strong suspicions in her mind that there was no sick person at
all in the case, and that the request was merely a bait to lure her
into the power of the sorceress--a trick which she did not intend
should succeed a second time. Her desire was to be able to dictate
terms to Khadija, not to be obliged to sue for her own release, and
she awaited the further development of the situation with much
interest and some anxiety. To pass away the time, she occupied herself
in putting her medicine-chest in order, setting Rahah to work to
polish her surgical instruments, a task in which the girl took a keen
delight, and even before the business was finished to her
satisfaction, another visitor was announced. As before, Rahah went out
to see who it was, and returned in a high state of excitement.
“O my lady, it is Khadija the sorceress herself! Surely she has heard
of my lady’s power, and comes to prove it.”
Georgia’s heart beat a good deal faster than before, as she walked
slowly down the long room, refusing resolutely to quicken her steps,
but she succeeded in keeping her anxiety from betraying itself in her
voice as she gave her visitor the usual greeting. The sorceress, a
small shrunken old woman, with white hair and piercing dark eyes,
looked at her sharply before making her hurried reply.
“And upon thee be peace, O doctor lady! Will my lady be pleased to
accompany her handmaid back to Bir-ul-Malikat, where one of the
household is grievously sick?”
“I must hear more about the matter before I come,” said Georgia,
turning and leading the way through the passage back into the harem.
“Sit down and rest, O Khadija, and tell me who is ill,” and as she
spoke she seated herself upon the divan opposite the visitor, while
Rahah took her stand beside her to interpret what was said.
“Nay,” said Khadija; “surely the doctor lady, who is so wise, needs
not to be told anything? She knows all things by her own wisdom.”
This was a direct challenge, and Georgia saw that it would be
necessary to administer a lesson to her visitor. She drew herself up
and fixed her eyes sternly on Khadija.
“You are right, O Khadija. I know many things without hearing of them
from you, and before we talk again of your matters I will ask you
certain questions, and according as you deal truly with me in
answering them or not, so will I decide whether I will grant your
request.”
Khadija looked up in evident surprise, not unmixed with apprehension,
and Georgia went on, speaking in a low voice, but very slowly and
distinctly--
“You are learned in poisons, Khadija. Tell me, then, what was the drug
that Fath-ud-Din used to poison the Queen of England’s Envoy--that
drug which you gave him?”
“God forbid!” cried Khadija, raising her skinny hands in indignant
protest. “Does the doctor lady think that her handmaid is as one of
the evil women in the corners of the bazaars, who sell poisons to
wives tired of their husbands? Far be it from me to deal with deadly
drugs to such an end!”
“I have other questions to ask, Khadija, but I shall speak with you no
more unless you answer this one. Also it would be well for you to
answer it truly, for I know the answer.”
“If the doctor lady knows, why should she ask me?” grumbled the old
woman; but the response was prompt--
“That I may see whether you are dealing truly with me or not, O
Khadija.”
“It might have been the juice of a plant?” was the tentative
suggestion. “Yea, doubtless it was the juice of a plant,” with the air
of one who had just remembered a forgotten fact.
“It might have been, but it was not.”
“It might have been some metal, or a deadly fruit, or the venom of a
serpent?” the last with a cunning side-look at Georgia.
“No, it was none of those; but we are coming to the point. Hasten, O
Khadija; my patience will not last for ever.”
“Could it have been the essence distilled from the dried body of--some
beast?”
Georgia rose from her seat and turned away, but the old woman threw
herself before her and clutched her dress.
“O my lady, was it the poison of a deadly fish?”
“Ah! now we are getting at the truth,” said Georgia, turning, but
refusing to sit down again. “It was a fish, then; but how was the
poison administered?”
“Surely the doctor lady knows all things. It would be vain if one
should try to deceive her. There was but one small drop of the
medicine, and it was to be given in a cup of coffee.”
“And it was carried for safety in the jewel of a ring, which was to be
dropped into the coffee. Is it not so, Khadija? But we will speak of
the Father of sleep again presently. Tell me now who it is that is ill
in your house, and what the sickness is.”
As they resumed their seats on the divan, Khadija gave a lingering
look into Georgia’s eyes, trying to discover whether she was possessed
of information upon this point also, but finding herself baffled,
leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.
“O doctor lady, I will not deceive thee. It is my master’s
daughter--my Rose of the World, my child Zeynab.”
“And what is the matter with her?”
“O my lady, I will hide nothing from thee. The maiden is light of foot
and venturesome as the wild goats. Some days ago--it may have been
four or five--she was climbing upon the walls of the garden with the
slave-girls, and she declared to them that she could go further than
any of them along the wall where it was broken. Thy handmaid called to
her with many rebukes to come down, but she was headstrong and went
on, and presently a part of the wall fell with her to the ground. Nor
was that all, for a great stone lay upon her foot and crushed it, and
nothing that I have done will cure it.”
“What have you tried?” asked Georgia--and the old woman gave a list of
various native remedies she had administered, all of them sounding
equally inadequate to a European listener, and the greater number
either painful or disgusting.
“And now, O my lady, the foot is swollen to the size of twice my head,
and it has turned black, and the maiden sobs and moans day and night.”
“That sounds as though the bones were crushed,” said Georgia. “I may
have to take off the foot.”
“Never, O doctor lady! Better that the child should die, though she is
the light of my eyes, and Fath-ud-Din will slay me if any ill befalls
her. Rather than lose her foot she must die, for who will marry a
woman with only one foot?”
“I will have a look at it, and see what I can do,” said Georgia. “It
may be possible to remove the shattered bones without amputation. But
you must understand that if I come I take the responsibility and the
authority in the case. If it is only possible to save the girl’s life
by amputating her foot, it will have to be done. You must leave me to
settle it with Fath-ud-Din, and I will take the blame.”
“Nay!” cried Khadija, with still more energy. “Fath-ud-Din must know
nothing of this, whether the maiden recover or not. O doctor lady, she
is all that I have, saving my son Yakub, and when I have seen her
married to the King’s son Antar Khan I can die happy; but Fath-ud-Din
would take her at once from my keeping if he heard what had happened
to her, or knew that I had brought in an English doctor-woman to see
her. Thou wilt not tell him, O doctor lady? I know that the English
speak the truth. Fath-ud-Din hates them; but if they have the skill to
save his daughter, it is well to make use of it without his
knowledge.”
It is sad to be obliged to confess the humiliating truth, but it was
this speech that decided Georgia to embark upon a course so
unprofessional that, if it had become known in England, it would have
been the duty of her medical _confrères_ to drive her with ignominy
from their midst. She made up her mind deliberately to haggle for her
fee before she visited the patient.
“Why was it that you gave Fath-ud-Din the poison with which to injure
the Envoy?” she asked, suddenly. Khadija looked astonished at the
unexpected change of subject.
“Nay, O my lady, is it not the duty of a servant to do her master’s
will?”
“You are not in the position of an ordinary servant to
Fath-ud-Din--you are more of an adviser and helper. Why did you make
it easy for him to poison a man who had done you no wrong?”
“I hate the English,” responded the old woman, sullenly. “They came
and burnt my village because our men had raided into Khemistan, and my
husband and my elder son were killed.”
“And now you are obliged to rely upon an Englishwoman to help you to
avoid the wrath of Fath-ud-Din? Hear me, Khadija--I will come to
Bir-ul-Malikat and do my utmost to cure Zeynab, but only on one
condition.”
“And that is, O doctor lady----?”
“That you give me the antidote for the poison you call the Father of
sleep, and tell me how to apply it. If I find you have deceived me,
Fath-ud-Din shall know everything; but if the Envoy recovers, all will
be well.”
“O my lady, she will poison you as soon as you have cured the girl,”
put in Rahah, in a frightened whisper.
“I think not,” said Georgia. “Tell her that before I leave this house
I shall write out an account of the circumstances, to be sent
immediately to Fath-ud-Din in case anything should happen to me.”
Khadija received the information with a grunt. “And what will the
doctor lady do in return for the antidote?” she asked.
“I will go with her to Bir-ul-Malikat,” replied Georgia, “and do all I
can to save the girl’s foot. Whether I find that amputation is
necessary or not, I will remain in the house until the patient is
fairly on the way to recovery, that she may have the best possible
chance.”
The old woman nodded her head meditatively. “Thou wilt cure my Zeynab,
and I will give thee the antidote. That is fair. Thou wilt come at
once, O doctor lady?”
“I must make a few arrangements first. You are prepared to give my
maid and me a room to ourselves, I suppose, as we shall be obliged to
remain over the night? It may be necessary for us to spend four or
five days with you.”
“Oh yes; the doctor lady shall be lodged in the best part of the
harem, in the rooms of my Zeynab’s mother--may she rest in peace!--and
the women of the household shall see to her comfort.”
“That is well,” said Georgia, as she left the room and went to seek
Lady Haigh. Rahah followed her.
“It is not safe, O my lady. She will kill you if she can, and there
will be many opportunities if you are staying in her house.”
“We must try to take adequate precautions, and baffle her, Rahah. In
any case, the possibility of success is worth the risk.”
Nevertheless, as Georgia knocked softly at the door of the sick-room,
the thought crossed her mind: “At any rate, I will make sure before I
go that I shall be allowed to try my remedy if I succeed in bringing
it back. It is a risk, undoubtedly, to go, and I shall hear a good
deal about it from Dick if I ever return, so that I won’t enter on it
as a mere speculation.”
“What is it, Georgie?” asked Lady Haigh, coming out. “Is anything
fresh the matter?” for the repressed excitement in Georgia’s manner
caught her attention at once.
Instead of answering immediately, Georgia drew her to the window and
threw open the lattice, so that the light fell full on the faces of
both.
“Have you confidence in me, Lady Haigh?--as a doctor, I mean?”
“Every confidence, Georgie. I would sooner have you to attend me if I
was ill than any male doctor I know. But why do you ask? Oh, my dear,
don’t--don’t tell me that it is anything about Dugald! He doesn’t seem
quite so strong here, I know; but it is only the change of air. Don’t
say that he is really worse!”
“No, that is not what I wanted to say, though it has to do with Sir
Dugald. Just before we left Kubbet-ul-Haj, Lady Haigh, I found out the
name of the poison Fath-ud-Din used against him. Now I have the chance
of obtaining the antidote; but that involves my going to
Bir-ul-Malikat, and perhaps remaining there for several days,
attending Fath-ud-Din’s daughter. If I can cure her, I am to have the
remedy given to me. What I want to know is, if I obtain the antidote,
will you let me use it for Sir Dugald?”
“But you must not go, Georgie! I can’t let you run into danger, and
what you propose would be fearfully dangerous.”
“That is not the question, Lady Haigh; and the danger is my affair.
You can’t prevent my going, except by assuring me that you won’t let
me try the antidote.”
“Oh, Georgie, how can you be so unkind?” And Lady Haigh fairly broke
down. “He is getting worse, I know it; and he will slip away without
ever recognising me or speaking to me again. I ought to prevent your
going, I know; but I can’t. Oh, what will Major North say to me? No,
Georgie, don’t go! We have had our share of happiness, Dugald and I;
and how can I dare to risk your future and Major North’s? Oh, why did
you ask me, and make me pronounce my husband’s death-sentence? No,
don’t mind what I say; I am nearly mad with trouble. You are not to
go.”
“Nevertheless, I am going,” said Georgia, her face very pale. “My only
condition is that you are to use the antidote, if I can get it sent to
you, whatever happens to me. You are quite right--I ought not to have
asked you. It was only that it struck me suddenly that you might
listen to Dick and Mr Stratford again, and it would all be no use. You
promise me that you will try the antidote, if I can get it?”
“Nothing can be worse than his state now,” sobbed Lady Haigh. “Yes, I
will use it, Georgie. How could I do otherwise, when you are risking
your life to obtain it for him? You believe in it, I can see that.”
“I do, and I hope that before long you will have good cause to believe
in it too. Now I must tell Mr Stratford of my intended mission. I
shall say nothing about the antidote, but I won’t get into trouble
again by going off without leave.”
Stratford was busied, with Fitz and Kustendjian, in compiling the
official chronicle of the events of the last few days, and it did not
strike him that there was any special danger in Georgia’s going to
visit a patient who had asked for her attendance. He knew nothing of
the evil fame of Khadija, and thought that if Abd-ur-Rahim could be
brought to give his consent, the ride to Bir-ul-Malikat would be a
pleasant change for Georgia after her imprisonment within the four
walls of the harem.
“One of us might go over with the escort and fetch you back,” he
suggested, “if you could fix any special time.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Georgia, with a guilty feeling of
concealment, “for I don’t know how long I shall be. If it is necessary
to perform an operation, I shall probably be detained some time. Could
you spare Mr Anstruther to help me get my things together, and to see
that the horses are properly saddled?”
Fitz jumped up from the divan with great alacrity, and when Georgia
had him alone she confided her plan to him, explaining the importance
of her going to Bir-ul-Malikat at this juncture, and the probability
that her stay there might extend over several days. His first impulse
was naturally to declare that he would go too, and to reproach her
with unkindness and lack of confidence in him when she refused his
escort somewhat decidedly. But Georgia had her answer ready.
“I don’t want you at Bir-ul-Malikat, Mr Anstruther, because I think
you would be more useful here. I want to arrange a code of signals
which will show whether all is going well or not. Do you know anything
of heliography? I have a small mirror in my dressing-case, and, if you
have another, we could each signal night and morning how things were
going, for I ought to know if Sir Dugald gets worse. I suppose one
flash would mean ‘All right!’ and two ‘Send help!’”
“Oh, we can do better than that,” said Fitz, whose face had brightened
perceptibly when he found that he might be of use even though he was
not allowed to act as Georgia’s escort. “I will jot down the Morse
code for you, Miss Keeling, and then we can hold conversations. Long
and short flashes will represent dashes and dots, you see, and none of
the natives will be able to imitate our signals, though they might
easily twig what one flash meant, and signal ‘All right!’ when it was
all wrong. You didn’t know I studied telegraphy a little before I came
out, did you? One never knows when things may prove useful, and I
chummed up with a clerk in the Whitcliffe post-office, and got him to
put me up to the dodges.”
Leaving Fitz occupied in writing out the code, Georgia next made a
raid on the stores under the care of Ismail Bakhsh. She felt it to be
a matter of the greatest importance that Rahah and she should take
their own provisions with them, since to depend on Khadija’s
liberality would be merely a gratuitous invitation to her to poison
them both, and with this danger in her mind she secured a sufficient
quantity of meat extract and other portable articles of food to last
for three or four days. Ismail Bakhsh demurred persistently to parting
with the stores in his charge, except in obedience to an officially
signed order, yielding only under protest; while, when he discovered,
from some chance words let drop by Rahah, the real object of the
journey, he could scarcely be restrained from going at once to
Stratford and begging him to prevent it. Rahah overwhelmed him with
shrill reproaches, for, little as she approved of the expedition
herself, she was determined not to allow any man living to thwart her
mistress’s wishes; but it was Georgia herself who forced him to give
an unwilling acquiescence to the plan. Her plea that she was going to
secure a medicine that might cure the _Burra Sahib_ he dismissed with
contempt, remarking that the _Burra Sahib’s_ illness did not concern
her--a slight to her profession which aroused all the ire of which
Georgia was capable. Looking straight at him, she spoke sternly--
“Am I to ask your leave to go where I will, Ismail Bakhsh--you who
have eaten my father’s salt? I am going to Bir-ul-Malikat, and I
forbid you to interfere. You take too much upon yourself.”
Ismail Bakhsh saluted in dumb amazement as Rahah translated the words
with much gusto.
“Truly Sinjāj Kīlin himself speaks in his daughter!” he murmured
submissively, as Georgia increased by another tin the pile which Rahah
was carrying, and left the room without vouchsafing him another
glance. He watched the two women out of sight, and after securing the
door of the store-room, went off to his quarters, revolving many
things in his mind.
Georgia’s preparations were now almost complete. Rahah had added
several native loaves and a quantity of flour to her stock of
provisions, together with a saucepan and a new water-jar, and Fitz
brought Georgia the paper on which he had written out the Morse code,
and reminded her that it was possible, by means of two mirrors placed
at right angles to each other, to obtain a flash when the sun might
seem to be too low in the heavens for signalling to be attempted with
success. The only thing now left to be done, although it was a very
important one, was to obtain Abd-ur-Rahim’s consent to the expedition.
It occurred to Georgia that in this she might find a powerful ally in
Khadija, and before sending Rahah to ask the old commandant to come
and speak to her, she returned to the room in which she had left the
sorceress. When Abd-ur-Rahim appeared, Rahah was walking meekly behind
him, and passing into the inner room, took her place behind her
mistress without a word; but it struck Georgia presently that she must
have made a suggestion to him on the way.
“What does the doctor lady require?” asked Abd-ur-Rahim.
“I wish to go to Bir-ul-Malikat with Khadija, who has one sick in the
house that she desires me to see,” said Georgia.
“But the doctor lady must remember that it was not even permitted to
her yesterday to visit the sick in the town, outside the citadel. How,
then, could her servant suffer her to cross the desert to
Bir-ul-Malikat?”
“But surely you will make an exception in favour of Khadija, who is
the servant of your lord Fath-ud-Din?” urged Georgia, aghast at this
new possibility of failure just as success seemed to be in her grasp.
“I know not,” replied Abd-ur-Rahim, cautiously. “Who is it that is
sick?”
“Make no inquiry into matters that concern thee not, O Abd-ur-Rahim,”
put in Khadija, with more than the usual touch of sharpness in her
tone. “It is enough for thee that one of thy lord’s household is sick,
and that I desire the doctor lady to come and see her. It will not be
for thy health, nor for that of thine house, for thee to put
difficulties in the way of her coming.”
Abd-ur-Rahim grew visibly paler under the implied threat. “But what
shall I say to my lord and to the English if any evil befalls the
doctor lady?” he asked, helplessly.
“What evil should befall her?” snapped Khadija. “Am I a dog, to
ill-treat the one who comes to help me?”
“Nay,” stammered Abd-ur-Rahim. “Far be it from me to hint evil
concerning thee. But there are dangers in the desert, and perhaps
among the servants at Bir-ul-Malikat there might be---- Nay, I cannot
let the doctor lady go unless I have a surety in her place.”
“Whom dost thou seek?” demanded Khadija.
“Thy son, Yakub, that he may remain here until the doctor lady has
returned in peace.”
“It is well,” returned the old woman, after a scarcely perceptible
pause. “Why should I fear for my son, since I mean well to the doctor
lady? Let him come, and welcome.”
“Then I will ride with thee to Bir-ul-Malikat, and receive the young
man before the doctor lady arrives there,” said Abd-ur-Rahim,
determined to leave no opening for the evasion of his conditions.
Khadija gave an angry snort, but to demur would have been to cast a
doubt on the honesty of her own intentions, and she submitted to the
inevitable. Abd-ur-Rahim departed to order the horses to be got ready,
and Georgia went to say good-bye to Lady Haigh, and to give her last
directions respecting the treatment of Sir Dugald. Fitz received a
parting injunction to take care of Colleen Bawn, and was further
honoured by having Dick’s sword committed to his keeping. Georgia
would have liked to take it with her, but it was rather an
unmanageable piece of luggage, and she gave it into his charge with no
little reluctance.
There was still another parting to be undergone, for as the three
women passed through the front portion of the house and reached the
steep path which led down into the courtyard, Ismail Bakhsh came to
meet them, with his hand on the shoulder of his son Ibrahim.
“O my lady,” he said to Georgia, “thy servant would entreat thy
forgiveness for his words of an hour ago. It was not for him to order
thy doings, but he would fain serve thee still, for thy father’s sake.
He is old, and cannot now fight as he did once, but let my lady permit
his son to take his place, and guard her in her journey and in her
sojourn in the strange house.”
“O my lady, let him come,” whispered Rahah, and Georgia assented to
the old man’s request. Ibrahim was not likely to be of much service as
a guard, but he might contrive to escape with the antidote if she and
Rahah were prevented from leaving when they wished.
“It is well,” said Ismail Bakhsh. “Guard well the doctor lady, O my
son, for thy father ate her father’s bread for many years. Count thine
own life nothing in comparison with the life of Sinjāj Kīlin’s
daughter, and it shall please thy father well, whatever issue it may
please God to send to this matter.”
“What says the old fool about Sinjāj Kīlin?” demanded Khadija,
catching the name.
“My lady is Sinjāj Kīlin’s daughter,” said Rahah, with much pride;
but the look on the old woman’s face made her recoil terrified. “O my
lady, she means to kill us,” she whispered fearfully when she could
gain Georgia’s ear.
“We can’t turn back now, Rahah.”
“If the doctor lady should run into some danger in spite of me, and
evil should befall her, thou wilt not hold me guilty?” Khadija was
saying to Abd-ur-Rahim.
“Nay, surely, if it is no fault of thine,” was the response.
“It is well,” said Khadija.