At last we got up steam and departed for the camp at Mohammerah, and not only our General Sir James Outram, but all our soldier and sailor companions-in-arms were rejoiced to see us, and hailed us as the heroes of Akwaz, which we undoubtedly were, despite the fact that we had suffered but little loss.

But that same day news came which delighted some of us, but grievously disappointed most.

Peace had been proclaimed, and we were to fight no more. This was looked upon by our brave soldiers as a downright shame. Just as the campaign was opening out so hopefully, and there was every prospect that we would, in course of time, conquer the whole of Persia.

But two of our number were very glad of the news, and these were that dear, big priest, and my own beloved master.

They went out together at sunset to talk matters over, as they wandered slowly up and down among the shady date trees. Jock McNab accompanied them at a little distance, and I trotted quietly between the two.

At last they sat down at a spot which afforded them a beautiful view of the river.

"War is a terrible thing, my friend," began the priest. "Are you not glad that peace is concluded?"

"War is, as you say, a terrible thing," replied my soldier-master; "yet I fear we redcoats like it. You see, we all look forward to honour and glory. Every private carries a marshal's baton in his knapsack, figuratively speaking, and yet, for one reason, I am glad this war is over."

"Ah! I knew," said the priest smiling, "that I should soon reach down to that which is next your heart."

"How true and good you are!" said Edgar.

"And do you know what I have done?" continued the priest. "What I have dared to do?"

My master turned quickly round to him.

"You have been to see the General!" he said quickly.

"Indeed I have."

"And you have told him all the story?"

"I have told him almost all."

"And he--"

"He is going to help us."

"Heaven bless you, dear friend, all your life."

Edgar extended his hand, which the priest shook right cordially.

"Now, you know," the priest said, "I had to tell the General that you were interested indirectly in this affair, and then he at once told me that you and I could go to Bagdad in the _Comet_, which was going there on state business. That he would gladly give an asylum and all a.s.sistance to the English lady, Miss Morgan, and to her maid, if she had one, no matter whether she were English or not. Then he shook hands with me and told me to go and talk the whole matter over with you."

My master sat thoughtfully looking at the river for a time, then he turned once more to the priest.

"I can see exactly how the land lies," he said smiling. "How good and thoughtful of the General."

"Yes, he is our friend."

"His horror," added the priest, "at the villainy displayed by a father, who would sell his young and beautiful daughter to the Shah against her will, was plainly discoverable in the manner in which he stamped his foot, and cried, 'Scandalous! Shameful!'"

"And the allusion to the maid--" began Edgar.

"That, you know," said the priest, "is left for you and for me to interpret, as best we may. Miss Morgan must have a maid, must she not?"

"Certainly. Every English lady must have a maid," said my master, smiling a happy smile.

"And it wouldn't do, would it, for the English General to be implicated in the abduction of a Persian n.o.ble's daughter?"

"No, certainly not."

"And so you see that--"

"Yes, yes, I see," cried master, laughing right heartily now. "Beebee must, for the time being, become Miss Morgan's lady's-maid. Ha! ha! ha!

It is droll."

"Yes, it is droll."

But then master's face fell.

"Ah! my dearest friend," he said, "we may, after all, be counting our chickens before they are hatched."

"Nay, nay, nay," cried the priest. "I have set my heart upon having this strange adventure end well, and end well it must and shall."

"Unless--"

"I know what you would say, captain. Unless Beebee has already been taken off. But I do not think this is at all likely. They do not do things very rapidly in Persia. They are a calm, contemplative kind of people. But, nevertheless, Beebee is doomed to a fate too horrible to think of if we do not rescue her."

"Do you think," said Edgar eagerly, "it will be very, _very_ difficult?"

"I do think it will be somewhat difficult. But have heart and hope, my friend. Let me recall to you a motto that I have heard from your own lips."

"And that is?"

"'Whate'er a man dares he can do.'"

"And now," said Shireen, "I am going to reserve the last part of my story till we meet again, for, Cracker, your folks must think you are lost, and I can see that the c.o.c.katoo yonder is standing on one foot and half asleep."

"c.o.c.kie wants to go to bed," cried Uncle Ben's pet, arousing himself, and lifting his great white, yellow-lined wings as if he would fly.

"As for me," said Cracker, "I'd sit and hear you talk all night, you bet."

"And so would I," said Warlock.

"The more I see and learn of cats," continued Cracker, "the more I respects them like, and I don't care a rat's tail what the other dogs say about me. There's that butcher's rag of a bull-terrier, for instance, goin' and tellin' the whole village that I'm often seen in cats' company, and that I'm half a cat myself. Well, I says, says I, I might be something worse. But, bless you, Shireen, next time I meets he, I'm going to let him out."

"I wouldn't kill him quite," said Shireen.