drops of sweat on the sky's dull cheek! Such loveliness as
thine, beloved, needs a warrior to worship it--such a man as I,
who would cut the throats of kings for a kind word from thee!"

Don't forget, you fellows who have to call on a girl a dozen
Sunday evenings in succession before she will go to the movies or
condescend to sit out a dance with you, that east of the
fifteenth meridian the situation is reversed, and the man who
wasn't swift about his wooing would stand no chance at all.
Modesty of approach is reckoned a sure sign of unworthiness, and
deference as cowardice that fears to seize an opportunity.

"An Indian lover and a boasting louse are one," she answered;
but she laughed as she said it, and her voice had lost the
shrill note.

"Hah! Try me!" he retorted, tugging at her hand again, and
whether or not she tried really hard to release it she failed.
"Boasts should be put to the test, beloved! We of the North have
a way of understanding our performance. I would burn and lay
waste cities for thy sake! Come!"

Her laugh struck a bell-like note now. There was a hint of
pleasure in it, and more than a hint of thoughtfulness. You know
those overtones of a bell that go fading away into the infinite,
in touch, somehow, with thoughts that haven't reached any of us
yet except the man who made the bell.

"Ah! Afghans are all alike!"

Sikhs say that of Afghans too, and Afghans say the same thing of
the Sikhs.

"You would say anything for me; but as for cutting throats and
laying waste, I myself would be the very first victim. Thy love,
I think, would burn up and be ashes faster than the cities I
should never see."

"Cities! I will take you to all the cities! You shall have your
will of the richest! Covet pearls, and I will burn the feet of
jewelers until they beg you to take their costliest! Covet
rubies, and I will plunder them from the eyes of temple gods!
Covet gold, and I will melt down the throne of a maharajah to
make bracelets for your ankles!"

_"Wallahi!_ You speak like a braggart."

"Braggart? I? Nay, I am a lover whose words go lamely. They are
but chaff blown along the wind of great accomplishment. With thee
to fight for I would dare the very rage of Ali Higg!"

He still held her hand. She waited about a minute before answering.

"Which Ali Higg?" she asked at last.

"Any Ali Higg! All Ali Higgs! As lions go down beneath the feet
of elephants so shall the Lion of Petra fail before me!"