CHAPTER XII.
THE STANDARD-BEARER FALLS.
Sir Dugald’s prophecy as to the probable resumption of negotiations on the part of the Ethiopians proved correct, for within a week after the doctor’s death Fath-ud-Din, now completely recovered from his illness, appeared once more at the Mission. As the visit was ostensibly one of condolence, Sir Dugald granted him an interview; but when the Vizier had spent the orthodox length of time in bemoaning the loss of Dr Headlam, and in remarking piously, for the consolation of his host, that these things were ordered by fate and could not be averted, he turned suddenly to business. Taking from the hands of his confidential scribe, who alone of all his attendants had accompanied him into the Durbar-hall, a roll of parchment which bore a family likeness to the various abortive treaties already discussed and rejected, he presented it to Sir Dugald and requested him to read it. Sir Dugald had now become so much accustomed to mental exercises of the kind that he could detect an unsound clause by eye or by instinct rather than by actual perception; but for the sake of appearances he beckoned to Kustendjian to come and read the document through to him quickly. When the reading was finished Kustendjian was pale with excitement, and Stratford and Dick were looking at one another in bewilderment over Sir Dugald’s head, for, with the exception of one or two minute alterations affecting the wording rather than the matter, the treaty was identical with that first agreed to, and ever since rejected by the King and Fath-ud-Din. That estimable person now sat smiling benevolently at the astonished faces of his hosts, and, while their eyes were still fixed upon him, began to make significant passes of the thumb of his right hand over the forefinger—a gesture which was immediately understood by all the members of the party except Fitz, for whom this journey was his first experience of Eastern life.
“So that’s it!” muttered Sir Dugald. “How much do you want, Fath-ud-Din?”
With a pained smile, directed towards the scribe, who was obviously watching the transaction while pretending to be absorbed in the study of the tiled floor, the Vizier held up his right hand, with the second finger turned down.
“Oh, nonsense!” said Sir Dugald. “You can’t afford to do it for that, you know. Or is there any other little thing we could do for you besides? Out with it; we are all friends here.”
“The life of man is uncertain,” sighed Fath-ud-Din.
“Quite so—especially in Ethiopia,” responded Sir Dugald.
“Even kings cannot rule for ever,” went on the Vizier.
“I quite agree with you;” yet Sir Dugald became portentously stern all at once.
“And happy is he to whom a son is given that may sit on his throne after him.”