“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.
CHAPTER XXII.
A SILENCE THAT WAS GOLDEN.
Although she would not for the world have allowed either Rahah or Khadija to discover the fact, Georgia was conscious of a distinct sense of shrinking as she rode under the gateway of Bir-ul-Malikat, after seeing Abd-ur-Rahim start on his homeward journey with young Yakub among his followers. The place was less of a fortress, and more of a country seat, than Bir-ul-Malik; but the high walls which surrounded the grounds of the great house, and about which a number of smaller buildings and huts were clustered, were quite capable of defence, and the assemblage of men visible about the gate and courtyard showed that a respectable garrison could be collected in time of need. Still, the fortifications were not of such a character as to be able to stand a protracted siege, and Georgia guessed what was indeed the truth, that while they were useful to withstand the sudden raid of any marauding border tribe, who might be supposed to be swayed by the hope of plunder more strongly than by superstitious fear, the real bulwark of the place was Khadija’s reputation as a sorceress. Here she was supreme, and her fame protected alike her precious charge and the servants and labourers who formed the little colony. When she had once for all secured the transference of Jahan Beg’s rights in Bir-ul-Malik to her master, by diverting the water-supply, she had removed from her path the only enemy on whom the universal belief in her supernatural power for ill had no effect, and who had been able to keep an eye on her doings. Every man and woman in the place was bound to Khadija’s service both by interest and by fear, and Georgia felt that it was indeed well that Abd-ur-Rahim had insisted on receiving her son as a hostage before he would intrust his prisoners to her tender mercies.
Dismounting from their steeds in the inner courtyard of the great house, where a number of slave-girls were gathered to stare at them, the new arrivals were led by Khadija into the rooms which she had promised them, and which, as Georgia was delighted to find, looked out on the desert in the direction of Bir-ul-Malik. After a short interval to allow them to arrange their possessions and to remove a little of the sand of travel, the old woman came to fetch them, and led them through the rambling, half-deserted house to the opposite wing. Everything in the rooms through which they were conducted spoke of vanished wealth and a gorgeous past. The divans were covered with rich silks, now faded, torn, and dirty, and costly ornaments of European manufacture stood broken and tarnished in corners. It was evident that Fath-ud-Din’s ambitious plans for his daughter’s future had not impelled him to keep her present abode even in tolerable repair, while it was not difficult to discern that Khadija cherished a strong preference for muddle and dirt over cleanliness and order. The state of the passages and of the bedrooms opening from them was extraordinary—they seemed to be filled both with the dust and with the rags of ages; while in the innermost room of all, and therefore the one with the smallest allowance of air and light, was to be found the jewel enshrined in this sorry casket, Fath-ud-Din’s daughter Zeynab, the destined bride of Antar Khan.
“This is my Rose of the World, O doctor lady,” said Khadija, when she had led Georgia into the dark close room, and as she spoke she indicated a small form crouched among a heap of cushions on a broken bedstead. It was so dark that there was no possibility of seeing anything distinctly.
“Get up on that chest, Rahah, and open the lattice a little way,” said Georgia; and as the girl, with a vigorous wrench, forced open the small high window, which moved so stiffly that it was evident it had not been touched for years, the light disclosed a very white little Rose indeed, with a face drawn with pain, and grimed and blistered with crying. The child (she could not have been more than ten) was lying in an uncomfortable cramped position, with the injured foot fastened down to one of the legs of the bedstead. This was Khadija’s latest idea of the way to reduce a swelling. Before saying anything, Georgia stooped and cut the cord, replacing the foot gently on the cushions, but the slight movement drew an uneasy little cry from the patient.