“This is absurd,” said Mrs Howard White. “Miss Anstruther has succeeded in taking very good care of herself since you left Baghdad, and I should say that she was quite able to do so still. I call it arrant selfishness to keep her tormented with anxiety about you by following the Pasha’s camp, where you can do no good, and may get yourself and her into great trouble. As for saying that it is done on her account, you know that it is simply for an adventure--a lark.” “It isn’t really, on my word of honour,” said Charlie, quickly. “I promise you, Mrs Howard White, Cecil shan’t see anything of me, and, unless she is in danger, shall never even know that I am near her. I have got permission to follow the Pasha’s caravan--it is quite natural; lots of traders and people are going to do it--for the sake of protection through the mountains, and I shall be among the riffraff at the very end of the procession, while she is among the grandees in front. She will never even hear of me.” “Then what good can you do?” asked Mrs Howard White. “I don’t know--just be near in case she needs help, I suppose.” “You are a very foolish young man,” said the lady, with severity; “and why you should want to help her when she doesn’t need any help, I don’t know. I suppose you will go, since you are set upon it; but remember that I disapprove entirely of the whole thing, and that I would never have helped you to meet her here if I had guessed what you would do.” Charlie laughed, and took leave of his hostess to prepare his mules for the journey, all unconscious of the fact that at that moment he was the subject of a conversation between Azim Bey and M. Karalampi--the latter having just arrived in the train of the Pasha. “I tell you, monsieur, he is here!” cried the boy in a frenzy. “I saw him myself, and mademoiselle recognised him. He and his servant are disguised as Armenians from Julfa, and they are selling knives and scissors. I have set the boy Ishak to watch them, and he tells me that they have gained permission to attach themselves to our caravan in traversing the mountains.” “Ah! With the knowledge of mademoiselle?” asked M. Karalampi. “No; I am convinced she knows nothing of this. I believe she imagines that he is returning at once to Baghdad.” “So much the better. And what are your wishes, Bey Effendi?” “I should like,” said Azim Bey, slowly, as though gloating over each word--“I should like him to be carried off secretly and kept a prisoner until after mademoiselle’s five years here are over, and she has entered into a new agreement to remain. If she heard nothing of him, she might forget him and be willing to stay with us.” “Excellent, Bey Effendi! May I suggest that this time Dr Egerton should not be intrusted to your friends the Hajar, with whose language and customs he is well acquainted? If I am right, you do not wish that this imprisonment should be made too pleasant for him. You desire something more than mere safekeeping?”