"Take the horse to the stable, Jungwa, and tell the _syce_ to undress
him. Remember to keep that monkey tongue of yours between your teeth
for in my room hangs a bitter whip. It is a lie that I have not ridden
home alone," Barlow commanded.




CHAPTER XII

As Barlow led the Gulab within the bungalow she drew, as a veil, a
light silk scarf across her face.

Upon the floor of the front room a bearer, head buried in yards of pink
cotton cloth, his _puggri_, lay fast asleep.

As Barlow raised a foot to touch the sleeper in the ribs the girl drew
him back, put the tips of her finger to her lips, and pointed toward
the bedroom door.

Barlow shook his head, the flickering flame of the wick in an iron
oil-lamp that rested in a niche of the wall exaggerating to ferocity
the frown that topped his eyes.

But Bootea pleaded with a mute salaam, and raising her lips to his ear
whispered, "Not because of what is not permitted--not because of
Bootea--please."

With an arm he swept back the beaded tendrils of a hanging