“What was it that I promised thee?” asked Khadija slowly, when Rahah had translated her mistress’s words.
“The antidote for the poison which they call the Father of sleep, and the directions for applying it,” said Georgia, promptly.
“Ah, the antidote!—it is well; I have it here,” and Khadija drew a small square box from one corner of her ample veil, which was tied up in a knot. “Take it, O doctor lady, and may it succeed in thy hands!”
“Is this all that is necessary?” asked Georgia, opening the box, and finding in it only a small quantity of flaky white powder.
“I swear to thee that it is all thou canst need.”
“And how is it to be applied?”
“Nay; I made no promise to tell thee that.” Khadija’s sharp little eyes gleamed cunningly.
“Very well, Khadija; then I shall remain here, and Yakub at Bir-ul-Malik, and my friends there will send a message to Fath-ud-Din at Kubbet-ul-Haj.”
“Nay; I was but joking, O doctor lady. Thou shalt do as I bid thee,” and Georgia noted down the details of what sounded like a rude Turkish bath, repeated three or four times, and varied by the administration of copious draughts of a decoction made with the powder in the box.
“And you are sure that you have given me all that is necessary for effecting a cure?” asked Georgia, suspiciously, for the powder possessed no healing qualities that were perceptible either to sight, smell, or taste.