British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
“Is it so, O doctor lady? Then listen to the remaining words of Ashraf
Ali Khan: ‘Let Nāth Sahib but say the word, and this border shall be
no place for the Kumpsioner Sahib. Already my Sardars are murmuring
against his doings, and the tribesmen’s faces are black towards him
because of his treatment of their friend. At a signal from me they
will rise all along the border, and force the Kumpsioner Sahib to flee
for his life, so that the Empress shall say, “Verily Barkaraf Sahib is
no fit ruler for the men of Khemistan.” But when he is gone, Nāth
Sahib shall quell the rising without drawing a single sword, so that
the Empress will send him a robe of honour and a state elephant, and
name him ruler of Khemistan and the border for ever. Send back but one
word through the mullah Aziz-ud-Din, whom I have despatched to quiet
the complaints of my nephew with empty words and grudging gifts, in
obedience to the Kumpsioner Sahib, and the thing is done.’”
“Oh no, no!” cried Georgia, “that must never be. A rising now would
only work the ruin of my husband, and the Kumpsioner Sahib would be
stronger than ever before. More than this, O Eye-of-the-Begum, such
are not the ways of the English. Because the Kumpsioner Sahib is set
over my husband, he is to be obeyed, and to conspire against him or
plot for his disgrace would be in our eyes a deadly wrong. The matter
is ended.”
“So be it, O doctor lady. The hands of Ashraf Ali Khan are clean, and
he has done what he could for his friend and for himself, but it was
written that matters are not to be set right thus. And one word more;
see that thy lord seek a husband quickly for the Miss Sahib. Why does
he not give her to the Dipty Sahib?” This was Fitz Anstruther, in his
capacity of Dick’s assistant or deputy. “He is young and well spoken,
and such a man as women love.”
“I should like nothing better,” said Georgia, with a sigh, “but I
rather think the Miss Sahib will choose a husband for herself. And
hark! I hear the Major Sahib returning. You will rest this night in
the guest-house in the compound with your attendants?”
“Even so, O doctor lady, and in the morning I will return to Dera Gul
with the medicine for my mistress, and with such words as the wisdom
of the night may dispose thee and thy lord to send in answer to the
Amir Sahib’s message.”
Georgia shook her head again sadly as she delivered the old woman into
Rahah’s charge, and having seen her safely out of the way, went to
find Dick. He had just thrown off his heavy boots, and was lounging
luxuriously in a long chair in his den.
“That you at last, Georgie? Come in, old girl. How has the world gone
with you all day? I’m just comfortably tired, and at peace with all
mankind. What’s up? Some obstinate patient who _will_ die, eh?”
“No, nothing of that kind. I have been interviewing a messenger from
Dera Gul.”
“Not that awful East Indian woman, I hope?” Dick raised himself
suddenly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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