s
body across his thighs; he was tired; he was mentally distressed over
the messengers he had failed to locate, and this, the almost forced
intrusion of Bootea into his bedroom, the closed door and the curtained
windows, her doing, was just another turn of the kaleidoscope with its
bits of broken glass of a nightmare. He dropped wearily into a big
cane-bottomed Hindu chair, saying; "Little wilted rose, cuddle up on
that divan among the cushions and rest, while you tell me why we sit in
_purdah_."

The girl dragged a cushion from the divan, and placing it on the floor
beside his chair, sat on it, curling her feet beneath her knees.

Barlow groaned inwardly. If his mind had not been so lethargic because
of the things that weighted it, like the leaden soles upon a diver's
boots, he would have roused himself to say, "Look here, a chap can't
pull a girl who is as sweet as a flower and as trusting as a babe, out
of trouble and then make bazaar love to her; he can't do it if he's any
sort of a chap." All this was casually in his mind, but he let his
tired eyes droop, and his hand that hung over the teak-wood arm of the
chair rested upon the girl's shoulder.

"Bootea will soon go so that the Sahib may sleep, for he is tired," she
said; "but first there is something to be said, and I have come close
to the Sahib because men not alone whisper in the dark but they listen."

The hand that rested on Bootea's shoulder lifted to her cheek, and
strong fingers caressed its oval.

"Would the Sahib sleep, and would his mind rest if he knew where the
two who rode are?"

Barlow sat bolt upright in the chair, roused, the lethargy gone, as if
he had poured raw whisky down his throat. And he was glad, the closed
door and the drawn curtains were not now things of debasement. Curious
that he should care what this little Hindu maid was like, but he did.
His hand now clasped the girl's wrist, it almost hurt in its tenseness.

"Yes, Gulab,"--and he subdued his voice,--"tell me if you know."

"They are dead upon the road beyond where you saved Bootea."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"It was too late, Sahib; and if you had gone there they would have
killed you."

"Who?"

"That, I cannot tell."

"You must, Gulab."

"No, Bootea will not."

Barlow stared angrily into the big eyes that were lifted to his, that
though they lingered in soft loving upon his face, told him that she
would not tell, that she would die first; e