“Not as a soldier. It isn’t my business to criticise my orders, but to execute them. Oh, I know all you are thinking. I see it perfectly well, and from your point of view you are absolutely in the right, and as an individual I agree with you, but I am not my own master.” “And your personal honour?” “I’m afraid it has got to look after itself. Don’t think me a brute, Georgie. I want to be on your side, but I can’t.” “Then I suppose it’s no use my saying anything more?” “I really think it would be better not. You see, it would only make us both awfully uncomfortable, and do no good.” “Oh, don’t!” burst from Georgia. “I can’t bear to hear you talk like that. Remember your promise to Ashraf Ali. The poor old man has relied on that, and pledged himself to all the Sardars that the Government doesn’t intend to forsake them. The whole honour of England is at stake. Dick, these people have learnt from you and my father to believe the word of an Englishman, and are you going to teach them to distrust it now?” “When you have quite finished----” began Dick. “I can’t! I can’t! Oh, Dick, our own people, who know us and trust us! Have you the heart to forsake them? Dick, won’t you listen to me? I have never urged you to do anything against your will before, but when it is a matter of right and conscience--! I know you believe you’re right now, but how will you feel about it afterwards? Think of our friends betrayed, our name disgraced, through you!” “Hang it, Georgie!” cried Dick, losing his temper, “you make a man feel such a cur. I tell you I have got to go.” “I wish I had died when baby died at Iskandarbagh, rather than lived to hear you say that.” Dick turned away without answering, and took up his sword from the table where he had laid it down. It was always Georgia’s privilege to buckle the sword-belt for him, and she rose mechanically, rousing herself with an effort from her stupor of dismay. He took the strap roughly out of her hands. “No,” he said, “you’d better have nothing to do with it. The blame is all mine at present, and you can keep your own conscience clear.” She sank upon a chair again and watched him miserably as he buckled on the sword and went out. On the threshold he looked back, softening a little. “Graham has changed his mind, and is not coming to the durbar. If there should be any attempt at a rising, you are to take refuge in the old fort. Tighe will come and sleep in the house these two nights if you are nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” said Georgia indignantly. “Oh, very well. After all, we shall be between you and Nalapur.” He crossed the hall to the front door, Georgia’s strained nerves quivering afresh as his spurs clinked at each step. Suddenly she realised that he was gone, and without bidding her farewell. “Dick!” she cried faintly, “you are not going--like this?”