But Bootea's eyes went wide now with a new fear; the sound of the shot
would travel faster even than the fleeing Hunsa: and if the decoits
came--for already they would be making ready for the road--this
beautiful god, with eyes like stars and a voice of music, would be
killed, would be no more than the Bagree lying on the road who was but
carrion. In her heart was a new thing. The struggle with Hunsa, the
fright, even the horribleness of the blood upon her knife, was washed
away by a hot surging flood of exquisite happiness. The Hindu name for
love--"a pain in the heart"--was veritably hers in its intensity; the
sahib's arm about her when she had closed her eyes had caused her to
feel as if she were being lifted to heaven.

She laid a hand on Barlow's arm and her eyes were lifted pleadingly to
his: "You must go, Sahib--mount your horse and go, because--"

"Because of what?"

"There are many, and you will be killed. Hunsa will bring others."

"Others--who are they?"

But the Gulab had turned from him and was listening, her eyes turned to
the road up which floated from beyond upon the hushed silence that was
about them,--that seemed deeper because of the dead man lying in the
moonlight,--the beat of Hunsa's feet on the road. Once there was the
whining note of wheels that claimed a protest from a dry axle; once
there was a clang as if steel had struck steel; and on the droning
through the night-hush was a rasping hum as if voices clamoured in the
distance. This was the bee-hive stirring of the startled village.