They went across to the Ambroses’ verandah, and Eveleen turned a despairing face upon them at the sound of Captain Crosse’s hesitating greeting, “Can we do anything, Mrs Ambrose? We were afraid something must be wrong.”
“Sure I don’t know what to do!” she burst forth. “I’m in the most frightful trouble. Do come in, the two of you, and tell me is there anything you can do. But I don’t believe anybody but the Resident will be any good, and it seems as if he’d never be back!”
“Sit down and tell us about it, ma’am,” urged Captain Crosse, while the young Scotchman pulled a chair forward. “To fret yourself into a fever will do nobody any good, and be precious uncomfortable for you.”
Eveleen hesitated, pushed back the damp hair from her temples, and dropped into the chair. “It’s because there’s no time,” she said despairingly. “Colonel Bayard said it was too late before, because the poor creature was dead, but this time she could be saved, only there’s no one to do it—— I suppose,” with reviving energy, “you wouldn’t come with me and rescue her?”
A glance had passed between the two men over her head, and now, as she sat up eagerly and grasped the arms of the chair preparatory to rising, Lieutenant Haigh said, with discouraging slowness, “But who is it you want to rescue, Mrs Ambrose—and what from?”
“The poor girl—child, rather. They carried her off—I saw the dust of their horses in the distance——”
“But who carried her off?” patiently.
“Sure how would I know? A band of Arabit horsemen—they brought a palki, and forced her in——”
“But who was she? and where did they take her? Try and tell us exactly what has happened.”
Eveleen glanced upwards, as though in search of patience, and still holding the chair, as if to anchor herself to it, spoke with exaggerated deliberation. “She was a pretty little young girl—I have often seen her; she would peep out in a shy sort of way and smile at me. To-day she was not there, but the old father—he’s a poor sort of fellow, that—was crying fit to break his heart and throwing dust in the air, and the mother—that’s worth two of him—was all bleeding where the wretches had knocked her about when she tried to hold her daughter back, and the neighbours would all be sympathising with them—but they ran away like mice, every one of them, when they saw me.”