But as she stood waiting for the critical moment, with her hands already raised to fling off the _burka_, a sudden disturbing thought came to her. Why had Khadija brought her to that spot at that moment, when she must know her well enough by this time to be sure that she would at least make an attempt to warn the column of its danger? Was it not possible that for some reason or other she wished her to give the alarm? It was an awful moment, but Georgia’s whole training had been such as to inculcate presence of mind and prompt decision in emergencies. Just as the British force reached the point at which she had determined that her warning should be given, she turned her back deliberately on the desert, and, sitting down on the parapet, buried her face in her hands. “Ah, the doctor lady is _prudent_!” said Khadija, in a low snarl of intense rage. But Georgia scarcely heard her. She was praying as she had never prayed before, and at the same time listening intently for any sound of conflict. For, after all, she might have decided wrongly. At last she could bear the uncertainty no longer, and looked round. The dreaded _nullah_ had been reached, and the troops were passing through it without opposition, two or three dismounted men scrambling along the brink on either side as scouts. There was no ambuscade there, at all events. Almost before she had had time to realise the full significance of this, the gleam of a weapon in the courtyard below her caught her attention, and she became aware that the outbuildings around it were filled with armed men crouching low, while the gate was standing partially open. There had been a trap laid here, that was evident, for a low growl of concentrated anger rose to her ears, as the liers-in-wait began to perceive that the prey had escaped them. Then the sound was echoed by the men on the tower, as they drew their daggers and turned towards Georgia with words and looks which intimated that in her they had, at any rate, a scapegoat for their disappointment. With a calmness which surprised herself, she did not even spring to her feet, but remarked quietly to Khadija-- “Zeynab is not yet recovered, and Yakub is still at Bir-ul-Malik.” With a muttered curse the old woman pushed her way through the group and ordered the men back. They obeyed sulkily, and Georgia, struck by the irony of the situation and the utter discomfiture of her enemies, began to laugh. She laughed until the tears came into her eyes, and the men looked at one another and muttered, “She is certainly mad,” while Khadija, with disappointed hate depicted on her face, motioned to her to return to the house. Still laughing weakly, Georgia obeyed, and found her way back to Rahah, to whom she recounted what had happened during the last half-hour. Deeply interested, the girl promised to do her best to unravel the mystery, and when evening came she returned to her mistress overflowing with news.