With a rush came back the happenings of the afternoon when she had been having tea with Cameron in the old guardroom.
Men such as those outside had burst in upon them when the brave old door had given way.
A wave of sickly fear swept over the girl.
Was she a prisoner in the hands of that wild horde?
But, if so, what was she doing in the midst of all this splendour, this riot of luxury, with the softest of cushions to lie on, the choicest of silk rugs to cover her, and Alice sitting contentedly at her side?
Perhaps Bob could give her the key to the situation.
"Alice," she said weakly, "run and tell Captain Cameron I want to speak to him."
"He no be here, Miss Pansy," the girl replied. "He go to de Sultan Casim Ammeh's city."
Alice pronounced the Sultan's name with gusto. The desert ruler with his barbaric splendour and troop of wild horsemen had impressed her far more than the English governor and his retinue. She did not at all mind being his prisoner. Moreover she was a privileged person, told off specially by the Sultan to nurse her mistress.
For some moments Pansy pondered on what her maid had said.