“O doctor lady,” said Khadija, “thou seest these horsemen. Knowest thou who they are?”
“They ride in order. No doubt they are soldiers.”
“Is that all? Look again, O doctor lady.”
“Look again, O doctor lady.”
“They wear turbans—some of them, at least. They have lances with pennons. They seem to be in uniform. It is dark, like the uniform of the Khemistan Horse. They are the Khemistan Horse!”
“Look again, O doctor lady!”
Georgia looked. The cloud of dust had become much less opaque as it approached, and the forms of the mounted men could be clearly discerned. There were two or three officers among them, and Georgia’s gaze was riveted on the foremost. From the moment in which she had obtained her first glimpse of him through the flying dust, it had seemed to her that there was something familiar in his appearance; and now, as she bent over the parapet and shaded her eyes with her hand, she knew that she had not been mistaken. It was Dick, leaning forward on his horse, as though from utter weariness, and looking neither to right nor left as he rode.
“Thou seest now, O doctor lady?” asked Khadija.
“Yes, I see; but what of that?”