Bad news reached the Mission on the following morning. The district which had hitherto been ruled by Fath-ud-Din was in open revolt. The governor of the town to which the baggage-animals had been sent refused to surrender them except to Fath-ud-Din or the King in person, and this necessitated the despatch of a military expedition to enforce compliance with the royal order. Jahan Beg could not venture to leave the capital, and although Rustam Khan was to be sent in command of the forces, the business was likely to be a long one in the present unsatisfactory state of the army. This meant a further period of detention at Kubbet-ul-Haj for the Mission, and Stratford and Dick, feeling that they could not impose upon the ladies much longer with any hope of success, broke the news to them with elaborate care. Lady Haigh, true to her self-effacing creed, received it with suitable alarm; but Georgia puzzled the two men by exclaiming, “Is _that_ all?” in a tone which showed that their considerate method of making the announcement had prepared her to hear things much worse than the reality. Dick thought that she was failing to realise the gravity of the news, and anticipated a reaction when she began to perceive fully what it meant; and when he came upon her on the terrace after dinner that evening, he thought that the reaction had come. Lady Haigh had been called away, and Dick, emerging from the lighted dining-room to make his usual tour of inspection, found Georgia sitting alone and gazing into the darkness. Something in the desolation of her attitude went to his heart, and he approached her impulsively and laid his hand upon her shoulder. “For heaven’s sake, Miss Keeling, don’t give in now!” he said, hoarsely. “You and Lady Haigh have kept our hearts up all this week by your pluck and cheerfulness.” “I don’t think I am afraid,” said Georgia, without looking at him. “One could always defend oneself, you see, if the mob broke in, and that would probably ensure death at once, and I have seen too many deathbeds not to know that death is generally easier than most people think. No, it is the isolation, the fearful loneliness, the feeling that there is not one of these people, to whom we have been trying to do good, that does not hate us heartily.” “Oh, I hope it’s not so bad as you think----” began Dick; but his clumsy attempt at consolation died on his lips. “How long have you known that things were as bad as they are?” he asked her. “As long as you have,” returned Georgia, with some scorn. “Not really so long? We were trying to save you from the knowledge. We hoped----”