Doggedly Dick pushed his way through the guards, and raised the curtain of the litter, in spite of the loud protests of the slaves. He was fully prepared for a trick; but the eyes which looked up at him through the lattice-work of the burka were unmistakably Georgia’s, and it was undeniably Rahah who flung herself forward to draw the curtain close again, with a shrill rebuke to the slaves for letting some drunken wretch approach the litter.
“Why, Major North, is it you?” asked Georgia, in astonishment. “Is anything the matter?”
“Not much—not exactly,” he stammered. “I—he—we fancied it might be safer if I turned up to escort you home.”
“It was very kind of you,” said Georgia, gratefully. “We had rather a fright at the Palace; but I will tell you about it presently.”
“Yes—very well,” he muttered incoherently, and, drawing the curtain again, turned to Stratford; but his lips refused to perform their office. Stratford held out his hand.
“Good-bye, old man,” he said. “God help you with the job you will have in hand now.”
“God bless you, Stratford!” burst from Dick. “I wish with all my soul that I was in your place at this moment.”
He wrung Stratford’s hand, and turned silently to follow the litter with the servants, while the ambassadors and their prisoner rode on towards the Palace.
“How shall I ever tell her?” was the question which agitated Dick’s mind as they neared the Mission. He knew enough of Georgia to feel sure that, if she been made acquainted with the terms of the King’s ultimatum, she would promptly have gone back to the Palace, and refused to allow any one else to be sacrificed for her, and he quailed under the anticipated necessity of informing her of what had been done. But he was saved this duty, for as he entered the Mission courtyard Mr Hicks came hurrying to meet him.
“Well, Major,” he exclaimed, “the King has been playing it pretty low down on you, I guess. I’m always glad to look on at a fair fight, and it don’t so much matter to me which of the chaps gives the other beans so long as everything is done on the square. But when it comes to getting hold of a woman, and by threatening to torture her, working on a man’s highest feelings to make him give himself up instead, you may bet largely that I don’t stand in with doings of that stamp—no, sir! The moment I heard a rumour of what was going on I made my darkies fly around, and in just half no time I had everything fixed up to come here. You may count on me as a fair shot with a Winchester or a six-shooter if it comes to fighting, and if old Fath-ud-Din and I catch sight of each other, one of us is bound to send in his checks, or I’ll never look a woman in the face again. Your nation and mine are not always sweet to each other, sir; but if there’s any question of a woman in danger, you may count upon Jonathan to the last drop of his blood.”