“Miss-sahib, I cannot do that.  So said Mahommed Gunga:  ’When the hag brings word, then take three horses and bear the Miss-sahib and her father to my cousin Alwa’s place.’  I stand ready to obey, but the padre-sahib comes not against his will.”

“To whose place?”

“Alwa’s, Miss-sahib.”

“And who is he?” She seemed bewildered.  “I had hoped to be escorted to some British residency.”

“That would be for Alwa, should he see fit.  He has men and horses, and a fort that is impregnable.  The Miss-sahib would be safe there under all circumstances.”

“But—­but, supposing I declined to accept that invitation?  Supposing I preferred not to be carried off to a—­er—­a Mohammedan gentleman’s fort.  What then?”

“I could but wait here, Miss-sahib, until the hour came when you changed your mind, or until Mahommed Gunga by letter or by word of mouth relieved me of my trust.”

“Oh!  Then you will wait here until I ask?”

“Surely, Miss-sahib.”

The head again peered through the window up above them, but disappeared below the ledge furtively, and none of the three were aware of it.  For that matter, the old woman was gazing intently at Ali Partab and listening eagerly; he stood almost underneath the arch, and Miss McClean was staring at him frowning with the effort to translate her thoughts into a language that is very far from easy.  They would none of them have seen the roof descending on them.

“And—­and won’t you under any circumstances take us, say, to the Resident at Abu instead?”

“I may not, Miss-sahib.”

“But why?”

“Of a truth I know not.  I never yet knew Mahommed Gunga to give an order without good reason for it; but beyond that he chose me, because he said the task might prove difficult and he trusted me, I know nothing.”

“Have you no idea of the reason?”

“Miss-sahib, I am a soldier.  To me an order is an order to be carried out; suspicions, fears are nothing unless they stand in the way of accomplishment.  I await your word.  I am ready.  The horses are here—­ good horses—­lean and hard.  The order is that you must ask me.”

“Thank you—­er—­Ali what?—­thank you, Ali Partab.”  The disappointment in her voice was scarcely more noticeable than the despondency her drooping figure showed.  The little shoulders that had sat so square and gallantly seemed to have lost their strength, and there was none of the determined ring left in the words she hesitated for.  “I—­hope you will understand that I am grateful—­but—­I cannot—­er—­see my way just yet to—­”

“In your good time, Miss-sahib.  I was ordered to have patience!”

“At least I will have more confidence, knowing that you are always close at hand.”