“Penelope, lie down here and try and get some rest. Wazira Begum, as you are good enough to lend us bedding, please let Hafiza get it out and have it ready to strap on the horses. And tell me, had we better wear veils like yours instead of our hats?”
“Nay, ye would be known everywhere as Farangis by your tight garments, and your manner of sitting on one side of your horses,” said Wazira Begum. “But this is what ye must do.” She unfastened the gauze veil from Lady Haigh’s hat and doubled it. “Now no man can see clearly what manner of woman is beneath.”
This settled, Lady Haigh sat down on the floor, and leaning against the wall, prepared to get a few hours’ uncomfortable and more or less broken sleep, while Hafiza was assisted in her preparations by the other women, who were all much relieved that they had not been chosen to attend the visitors, and were anxious to administer the kind of comfort which is easier to give than to receive. The disturbed night seemed extraordinarily long, but at last the summons came from behind the curtain. Wazira Begum bade farewell to her guests with something of compunction, and pressed upon them a string of pearls, which might serve as currency in case of need. The old women carried out the bundles of bedding, which were tied on a horse in such a way that Hafiza could perch herself on the summit of the load. Then Lady Haigh and Penelope, disguised in their double veils, walked down the hall, and found, to their delight, their own ponies awaiting them. Lady Haigh looked over the harness critically before mounting from the steps, and ordered one or two straps to be tightened—orders which were obeyed, apparently with some amusement, by the men who stood by. The leader of the enemy, who stood on the steps watching the start, gave his final instructions to a man named Nizam-ul-Mulk, who was, it seemed, to escort the ladies with ten men under him, and the gate was opened. Lady Haigh, who was looking about for any chance of escape, saw that every precaution was to be taken for the safe-keeping of the prisoners. On the narrow mountain paths, where it was necessary to ride in single file, there was always one of the guards between herself and Penelope, and when the valley widened, the whole of the escort closed up at once. Several small encampments were passed, from which startled Nalapuris looked out as they heard the horses’ feet to ask if Sinjāj Kīlin was coming; and it was clear that though the enemy might be said to be occupying the hills, there would be no great difficulty in dislodging them. Cowardly though they might be, however, they had the upper hand at present, and Lady Haigh and Penelope felt this bitterly when their party debouched from the hills about dawn, and struck off across the desert towards the north-east, leaving the great mass of the Alibad fort, touched with the sunrise, well to the south.
“If they only knew!” sighed Lady Haigh. “Just across there, and we here! How they would ride if they knew!”
“What is going to happen to us?” asked Penelope. They were riding side by side now, in the midst of their guards.
“Well, the worst that could happen would be that we might be carried right up into Central Asia, which all but happened to the captives in the Ethiopian disaster,” said Lady Haigh, ignoring decisively possibilities even darker, “and I suppose the best that could happen would be that Major Keeling should make terms for us almost at once.”
“But if he had to make concessions, as you said? Ought we to want him to do it?”
“Of course we oughtn’t to, and I don’t—but yet I do. Perhaps he won’t. You see I know already how high-minded my husband can be where I am concerned, but I don’t know what Major Keeling would be willing to do for you.”
“I know. He would refuse, even if it tore his heart out.”
Lady Haigh looked at her curiously. “You seem to know him pretty well,” she said. “Well, it’s something to feel that our poor little fates won’t be permitted to weigh against the safety of the frontier. But what nonsense we are talking!” as Penelope shuddered. “My dear, don’t we know that those two men would invade Central Asia on their own account if we were taken there, and bring us back in triumph? Don’t let us pretend they’re Romans. They’re good Englishmen, and would no more leave us to perish than turn Mohammedan!”