“They would not fight if they knew him as we know him,” said Richard slowly. “But with these fellows, his violence and severity defeats its own object. They are incapable of believing any one could take such a tone seriously with persons of their importance. He must be endeavouring to hide his weakness, they imagine.”
“Well, now!” said Brian. “And what can you do with people like that at all?”
“Pray don’t ask me. If they can’t see the difference between him and Bayard, how is it to be got into their heads? Bayard might employ threats, but I can’t believe the utmost exigency would have driven him actually to demand the annexation of the country. But this chap will do it if they don’t behave themselves.”
“Well, our own people are learning to know him,” laughed Brian. “Munshi was telling me to-day that they say he ain’t merely a commander, but the Governor-General himself in a military disguise. Some of ’em say he’s the Duke come back, but the old sepoys, who knew the Duke forty years ago, won’t have that. But they all agreed he might be an uncle or cousin of Her Majesty’s, sent out to cope with the posture of things here.”
“Aye, they are beginning to call him the Padishah,” said Richard. “Well, if the tales get to Gul Ali’s ears, so much the better, if they make him disposed to submit. But he can’t sign a treaty by himself, unfortunately, and by the time the rest are assembled, he will have been in as many different minds as there are Khans.”
“I’d dearly like to see Sir Harry talk to him for his good,” said Eveleen eagerly. “Where is it they’ll meet? Will we—ladies, I mean—be allowed to be there?”
“Certainly not,” said Richard crushingly. “It will be across the river—in that garden with the palm-trees just on the other side.”
“Sure you needn’t be so horrid about it! I dare say there won’t be much to see after all—maybe nothing.”
As it happened, that was exactly what there was. Sir Harry and his staff, all in full uniform, set out by boat, reached the meeting-place in good time, and waited there—in vain, returning after an hour or so in high dudgeon. Nor was their wrath mollified by a message from Gul Ali, conveying a perfunctory apology for his non-appearance, and appointing a meeting the next day in another garden, six miles down the river. This time it was Sir Harry who did not keep the appointment, returning the curt answer that he was not going to be insulted. Colonel Bayard’s partisans went about with long faces all day. Were the Khans to be defied on their own soil by this ignorant stranger? But by the evening, when reports began to filter in, they saw reason to change their tune. The messengers had found Gul Ali’s son Karimdâd waiting half-way, nominally to receive the General with honour, but actually—every one was sure of it—to note what troops he brought with him, and send word to his father, who had six thousand Arabits concealed in and about the garden, and reinforcements within call. Sir Harry was too much gratified by this proof of his foresight to exult unduly.
“I should have looked foolish—going into the middle of a body of Arabits with only a few officers at my back,” he said. “Whether there were six thousand or six hundred, they could have done for us pretty thoroughly. Nice old chap, Gul Ali!”