The morning passed quietly. The party from the Residency rode over to the Mission-house to join in the English service in the room which served Dr Yehudi as a church, and which was decorated with palm-branches and quaint devices arranged by the school-children, who mustered afterwards to receive good advice and sweetmeats from Sir Dugald, and presents from Lady Haigh and Cecil. Then the horses were brought up again, and the visitors rode home, refusing to tax the scanty resources of the Mission party by staying to lunch. At the Residency the meal was despatched in haste, for all the members of the British colony in Baghdad were expected to join in the Christmas dinner that evening, and such a prospect necessitated a good deal of preparation. Sir Dugald retired to his office to escape from the bustle, and such of his subordinates as did not follow his example found themselves impressed into Lady Haigh’s service for the purpose of moving furniture, hanging up draperies, and otherwise altering the appearance of the principal rooms. Cecil undertook the decoration of the dinner-table, much to the indignation of the Indian butler, who considered that he knew far more about dinner-parties than the Miss Sahiba, and Lady Haigh superintended everything, driving white-clothed servants before her in agitated troops. It was in the midst of all this turmoil that Charlie came home. Lady Haigh heard him ride into the courtyard, and flew to greet him. “O, my dear boy!” she cried, as he dismounted and came to meet her, “why didn’t you come before? You are too late.” “She has signed the agreement, then?” he asked, quickly. Lady Haigh nodded, and he went on. “I thought as much. Thanks to that abominable child, I believe (for you know his mother was one of the Hajar), I have been detained in their tents for a week. They persisted that they were at war with the Fazz, and that I could not go on except at the risk of my life, and they kept me a regular prisoner. Twice I tried to get away, and each time they brought me back. Yesterday I managed to get hold of my revolvers, which they had hidden away, and we very nearly had a big fight. I threatened to shoot them all if they would not let me go, and at last they consented to disgorge the horses and my things, and my boy Hanna and I came on at once. We parted company this morning. He was to come on gently with the luggage, while I rode hard, and now it is too late after all.” “My poor dear boy!” cried Lady Haigh, the tears rising in her sympathetic eyes. “I did my best for you, really, but you see I could not plead as you would have done, could I? But you shall speak to her yourself. Leave it to me, and I will make an opportunity for you, only it must be when there is no one about, that people may not begin to talk.” “Thank you, Cousin Elma. It’s something like a condemned criminal’s last interview with his friends, to give me one talk with her before three years’ separation.”