While Sir Dugald was taking his measures of precaution, Cecil had been carried into one of the rooms on the ground-floor of the outer court, and laid on the divan. Charlie rushed off to his surgery for bandages, and sent a servant to fetch Lady Haigh, who came at once, breathless and astonished, but capable and resourceful as ever. The first step necessary was to get rid of Azim Bey, who was crouched in a heap on the divan, looking like a little Eastern idol in very reduced circumstances, and to turn him over to the care of Sir Dugald’s Indian valet for some necessary personal attention. But the last rush through the yelling mob seemed to have shaken the boy’s nerve, for he was trembling and shivering, and his face was whitey-brown with fear. To Lady Haigh he looked exactly like a monkey in mid-winter, but she could not help pitying him as he shrank and cowered at every fresh shout of the mob outside. To her greeting and advice he paid but little heed. “They are all saying we shall be killed, madame,” with a nod in the direction of the knot of frightened servants near the gate, “and if we are to be killed, why trouble about one’s appearance? It is destiny?” “It is your destiny just now to go with Chanda Lal, and have a bath and some clean clothes, if any one here has any small enough,” said Charlie, returning with his bandages. “Now then, young man, off with you,” and he evicted the boy summarily from the divan, and impelled him in the right direction with a gentle shove. Charlie was the surgeon now, not by any means the courtier, and he was not accustomed to have his orders disobeyed. The business of dressing the wounded ankle was a long and painful one, and Cecil fainted again before it was over. Charlie fetched a restorative and administered it, and was leaving the room quietly, with an injunction to Lady Haigh not to allow the patient to be disturbed, when Cecil opened her eyes and half sat up. “Oh, Dr Egerton!” she cried, and Charlie came back at once. “You mustn’t think me ungrateful,” she said, brokenly. “I do want to thank you--I can never tell you how much--for coming to our rescue as you did, and for saving us, especially the Bey. How should I ever have faced his father if anything had happened to him?” “Especially the Bey?” repeated Charlie, slowly. “Well, I can’t agree with you there, Miss Anstruther; but I’m glad he’s all right, if you are pleased. He’s not a bad little beggar, and I shouldn’t wonder if he turns out rather well after all, now that you have got him in hand.” This was a great concession, but Charlie was in an appreciative and magnanimous mood.