“How is this?” asked Murtiza Khan. “Does not the Presence know that I was charged to protect her and the Miss Sahib, and how dare I leave them defenceless to the enemy?” “What could one man do? You could only fight till you were killed.” “Nay, I could slay both the Presences before the enemy broke in.” “Thanks, we can do that for ourselves if necessary. There are knives here, at any rate, whatever there may not be. But if the Sahibs are not warned, they will come to Sheikhgarh thinking it is in friendly hands, and will be ambushed in the mountains. That must be prevented.” “It is the will of the Presence,” said Murtiza Khan, with a resignation as sulky in its way as Wazira Begum’s. The girl had led the way up to the roofs of the buildings surrounding the zenana courtyard, which formed a terrace from which the defence of the place could be carried on. She sprang up on the parapet, and looked over the wall. “Here is the place,” she said. “My brother Ashraf Ali once dropped a jewel from his turban over the wall, and we let him down to recover it. Bring ropes, O women.” The servants ran wildly in all directions, and produced a heterogeneous collection of cords, which were knotted together and pieced out with strips torn from sheets. The trooper tested them carefully, and expressed himself as satisfied, only entreating that Lady Haigh would herself hold the cord and give the orders. Then he let himself down over the parapet, hung for a moment to the edge by his fingers, and loosed his hold. Lady Haigh restrained the eagerness of the women who held the rope, insisting that they should pay it out slowly and steadily; and after what seemed an age, the trooper’s voice was heard, telling them to slacken it a little, that he might unfasten it. Then the rope came up again free, and not daring to wait on the wall, Lady Haigh and Wazira Begum left the servants to untie and hide the separate parts, and fled back into the house. Wazira Begum was madly anxious about her brother, and Lady Haigh now remembered that Penelope had not accompanied them to the wall. They both caught sight of her at the same moment, and Wazira Begum sprang forward with a cry of rage, for Penelope was kneeling by the charpoy on which Maadat Ali lay, and binding up his head. The fierce jealousy which made the native girl rush to drive her away did not even occur to her, and she looked up at her with a smile. “He is only stunned, and he is beginning to come round. Take my place, so that he may see you when he opens his eyes, but don’t startle him. I’m sure he ought to be kept very quiet.”