“Mrs Ambrose, cross-examiner! Simply to the fact which the General is kind enough to leave out of sight when he seeks to raise your spirits, that though a certain amount of delay on Kamal-ud-din’s part may be of service to us in allowing our reinforcements to come up, yet too much of it will bring into the field against us an enemy far more deadly than any of the Khans—the hot weather.”
“But sure Sir Harry was counting up all the reasons he has for being thankful for the delay!”
“To reassure you, as I say. But believe me, the thought of the hot weather harasses him day and night. What could we do here, unable to march, with the river in flood, and the prevalence of sickness usual at that season? He has succeeded to a marvel in alluring the enemy from his fastnesses, whither we could not pursue him, and in keeping him amused in the prospect of overcoming our weakness with ease as soon as he tires of playing with us as a cat plays with a mouse. But that ain’t success as the people of this country understand it. They may hate Kamal-ud-din, with his horde of plundering Arabits sweeping off their cattle, and his design of re-establishing the late tyranny with himself as sole tyrant, but their main concern is to preserve their own lives and as much of their property as they can. They have hailed us as liberators, but when they see Kamal-ud-din’s rascals, encamped only five miles from our entrenchments, driving off our camels as they graze, while we don’t raise a finger to prevent ’em, it’s enough to set ’em thinking whether it ain’t time to turn against us.”
“And if they do?”
“Then it will be Ethiopia over again.”
“My dear Ambrose, d’ye think the General don’t know that as well as you do?”
Richard spoke rather stiffly. “I am sure of it. Possibly I may have wished to know whether you realised the situation.”
“I’m greatly obliged to you! Why not say at once you wanted to make my flesh creep? You forget, sir, y’are speaking to a female that had the honour of being present at the battle of Mahighar, when the Arabit chivalry, springing from its lair armed to the teeth, was hurled back in reluctant defeat by the might of British courage and endurance.” Her husband’s lips relaxed in an unwilling smile, for she was imitating the General in those moments when he indulged in what people of his day called admiringly “elevated language.” The present degenerate age would stigmatise it as “hot air” or “gas,” and ask kindly whether the poor old man was feeling quite well.
“Present in spirit, certainly. Yes, I had forgotten I was speaking to such a heroine. Renewed apologies!”
“Ah now, don’t tease! Just tell me, then, what’s the worst you expect?”