“But, Beebee, my dear pupil, will you not be afraid?”
“No, no, no,” cried Beebee, and at that moment I thought my little mistress looked all a queen. She spoke to Miss Morgan impatiently, almost imperiously.
“Go immediately,” she cried, “ride as hard as you safely can. Do not fear for me. I shall be safe until you return.”
Next minute Miss Morgan mounted her horse and quickly disappeared.
The stranger seemed slightly better now, that he was no longer losing blood, and would have tried to sit up in order to talk, but Beebee held up a warning finger.
“You must rest,” she said. “Miss Morgan would be displeased were you to sit up.”
He obeyed as if he had been a child.
Although pale and sickly-looking with the loss of blood, very handsome indeed was this stranger, dark brown hair cut short, a dark moustache, well-chiselled features, and beautiful eyes, quite as blue as mine, Warlock.
“You have saved my life,” he murmured. “May I ask whom I have to thank, and who is Miss Morgan?”
“I am the only daughter of an officer of the Shah,” said Beebee. “I have no mother. I may say I have no father. He—he is travelling now to Europe with our great king. Miss Morgan is the dearest friend I have on earth; an English lady who came to me as a companion, and to teach me your beautiful language.”