"Could you persuade these ladies to let go of
me?"

"Don't know," answered Jeekie. "'Spect they doubtfully your wives;
'spect you have lots of wives here; don't get white man every day, so
make most of him. Best thing you do, kick out and teach them place.
Rub nose in dirt at once and make them good, that first-class plan with
female. I no like interfere in such delicate matter."

Terrified by this information, Alan put out his strength and shook the
women off him, whereon without seeming to take any offence they drew
back to a little distance and began to bow, like automata. Then Jeekie
addressed them in their own language, asking them what they meant by
defiling this mighty lord, born of the Heavens, with the touch of their
hands, whereat they went on bowing more humbly than before. Next
he threw aside the cushions of the litter and finding the tin box
containing Little Bonsa, held it before him in both hands and bade the
women lead on.

The march began, a bewildering march. It was like a nightmare. Veiled
women with torches before and behind, Jeekie stalking ahead carrying the
battered tin box, long passages lined with gold, a vision of black water
edged with a wide promenade, and finally a large lamp-lit room whereof
the roof was supported by gilded columns, and in the room couches of
cushions, wooden stools inlaid with ivory, vessels of water, great
basins made of some black, hard wood, and in the centre a block of stone
that looked like an altar.

Jeekie set down the tin box upon the altar-like stone, then he turned
to the crowd of women and said, "Bring food." Instantly they departed,
closing the door of the room behind them.

"Now for a wash," said Alan, "unlace this confounded mask, Jeekie."

"Mustn't, Major, mustn't. Priests tell me that. If those girls see you
without mask, perhaps they kill them. Wait till they gone after supper,
then take it off. No one allowed see you without mask except Asika
herself."

Alan stepped to one of the wooden bowls full of water which stood under
a lamp, and gazed at his own reflection. The mask was gilded; the sham
lips were painted red and round the eye-holes were black lines.

"Why, it is horrible," he exclaimed, starting back. "I look like a devil
crossed with Guy Fawkes. Do you mean to tell me that I have got to live
in this thing?"

"Afraid so, Major, upon all public occasion. At least they say that. You
holy, not lawful see your sacred face."

"Who do the As