“Tell them that I am St George Keeling’s daughter, Mr Stratford,” cried Georgia, angrily, guessing the drift of the remark from the tone, “and ask them whether it is likely that I should tell a lie?”
Stratford translated the words, and the name produced an impression which showed that the fame of the Warden of the Marches had spread beyond his own border.
“In my youth,” said Abd-ur-Rahim, “I have faced Sinjāj Kīlin in peace and war, and I know well that no son or daughter of his house could be a liar.”
Georgia’s wrath calmed down, and Rahah, feeling that she was responsible for maintaining the honour of the house of Keeling, suppressed the falsehood which rose to her lips when she was asked whether she knew where the treaty was, and imitated her mistress in declining to say.
“And now we need only question the great lady,” said Abd-ur-Rahim, when Rahah’s examination was over; and Georgia went in search of Lady Haigh, and brought her into the hall, worried and protesting, and determined that no one should approach Sir Dugald’s sick-room. She was much easier to deal with than the rest.
“I haven’t an idea where the treaty is, and if I had, I wouldn’t tell you,” was her answer to Abd-ur-Rahim’s question. “Why do you come bothering me about treaties? Ask Mr Stratford; he is the proper person.”
“But is it not hidden anywhere in the great lady’s apartments?”
“I should think not, indeed! I have something else to do besides hiding treaties. Georgie, I want you to come and see Sir Dugald at once. I am sure he is not so well.”
“The man of many words must have dropped the treaty into the sand as he came hither,” said one of the Ethiopians in a low voice to his chief, as Georgia retired with Lady Haigh.
“Nay, that he could not have done without my seeing him,” objected Abd-ur-Rahim.