“Decidedly we must face these perils and make a dash for Sitt Zeynab,” repeated Cyril; “but I intend to spend to-morrow in exploring Anti-Lebanon.”
When the next day arrived, however, Mr Hicks came into Mansfield’s room early in the morning, and roused him unceremoniously from a sound sleep.
“Hullo! am I late?” asked the victim vaguely. “I’ll be down in a minute. Does the Count want to start already?”
“I want you to start right now,” said Mr Hicks, “if you’re game to do the boss a kindness at the risk of his turning ugly.”
“Of course I’ll do anything that wants doing,” said Mansfield, yawning furiously.
“Well, the boss’s strength has just about petered out. This hard travelling, and holding pow-wows with those old sinners all the time, has been too much for him, considering he was dead set on getting to his journey’s end right away. I looked in on him an hour back, at a word from Dietrich, and found that he hadn’t slept a wink all night, and was in something very like a fever. I took the liberty of giving him a sleeping-mixture that will keep him quiet till the evening, you bet. But if he starts riding up Mount Lebanon to-morrow, and finds maybe that Queen Ernestine won’t see him at the end, it will about settle his business. Now, what I want you to do is——”
“To go and see the Queen,” said Mansfield, sitting up in bed.
“If she will permit you; but I want you to go and prospect around at Brutli, any way. If you are able to see her, start right in and work on her feelings till she can’t see for crying. I incline to think she will come down to him at once, but allowing for wounded feelings and insulted dignity, we’ll conclude that she only sends a message to invite him up there. But even if you can’t see her, you can find out when she walks out and where, so that we may bring him face to face with her suddenly. Don’t give the boss away, of course. To every one but the Queen you’re a tourist wishing to inspect the Institution, and my darkey, who knows the country, shall go with you for a guide.”
“All right. I’m your man.” The words followed Mr Hicks as he left the room, and another hour saw Mansfield set forth on his embassy. The Citadel, the Seraglio, and the bridge over the Barada left behind, the route lay for a while along a broad, poplar-bordered road, on either side of which were white houses set in green gardens. This pleasant shade came to an end at the foot of the hills, and the rest of the journey presented itself as a hot and weary climb up steep mountain-paths, the monotony of which was only occasionally relieved by a grove of myrtles, or a happy valley with its terraced sides covered with vineyards and mulberry-trees. The interest which he took in his mission armed Mansfield against fatigue, and he clattered at a dangerous pace down slippery paths, and dismounted to lead his horse up steep ascents, with a dogged persistence which did not commend itself to Mr Hicks’s elderly servant, who was irreverently known as Uncle Sam. Two or three brief halts, undertaken purely for the sake of the horses, failed to mollify Uncle Sam, and when the travellers rode into the village of Brutli, only to behold the Deaconesses’ Institution towering above them at the head of a further long ascent, his feelings overcame him. Approaching Mansfield, he hinted darkly that the consequences would probably be serious for both of them if they did not pause and lunch, in view of the early hour at which they had started. Mansfield acquiesced reluctantly, and they asked their way to the inn, which proved to be a more imposing building than those in the other villages they had passed. The reason for this superiority was revealed when the landlord explained with much pride that two gentlemen and several servants belonging to the household of the Queen of Thracia had occupied his best rooms for more than two years past, and that this gratifying fact had obliged him to increase his accommodation for visitors. He pointed, as he spoke, to a pleasant vine-shaded verandah on the opposite side of the courtyard, in which a table was set out in European fashion. A tall thin man had just taken his seat, and a second European, stout and elderly, was standing at the edge of the verandah, peering across the yard into the darkness of the archway in which Mansfield stood. The landlord, with a hurried apology, hastened towards him, to return in a moment beaming with smiles, and bearing a request from the Thracian gentlemen that the English traveller would share their meal. Delighted to find his path made so smooth, Mansfield crossed the courtyard, to be met by the short man at the foot of the verandah-steps, and received with flattering assurances of welcome.
“I am ashamed to intrude upon you in this way,” began the guest.