"Not even the Gulab, I fear, Captain; one never knows when a woman will
be swayed by some mental transition." He was thinking of Elizabeth.

"You're right, Colonel," Barlow answered. "I fancy I could trust the
Gulab--but I won't."




CHAPTER XVI

Captain Barlow had been through a busy day. The very fact that all he
did in preparation for his journey to the Pindari camp had been done
with his own hands, held under water, out of sight, had increased the
strain upon him.

In India in the usual routine of matters, a staff of ten servants form
a composite second self to a Sahib: to hand him his boots, and lace
them; to lay out his clothes, and hold them while slipped into; to
bring a cheroot or a peg of whiskey; a _syce_ to bring the horse and
rub a towel over the saddle--to hold the stirrup, even, for the lifted
foot, and trotting behind, guard the horse when the Sahib makes a call;
a man to go here and there with a note or to post a letter; a servant
to whisk away a plate and replenish the crystal glass with pearl-beaded
wine without sign from the drinker, and appear like a bidden ghost,
clad in speckless white, silent and impassive of face, behind his
master's chair at the table when he dines out; everything in fact
beyond the mental whirl of the brain to be arranged by one or other of
the ten.