comes up from the black muck of the cotton fields and across the river is
raw. Hang on for a minute," he added, as he slipped his arm from about
her shoulders and fumbled at the back of his saddle. A couple of buckles
were unclasped, and he swung loose a warm military cloak and wrapped it
about her, as he did so his cheek brushing hers.

Then she was like a bird lying against his chest, closed in from
everything but just this Sahib who was like a god.

A faint perfume lingered in Barlow's nostrils from the contact; it was
the perfume of attar, of the true oil of rose, such as only princes use
because of its costliness, and he wondered a little.

She saw his eyes looking down into hers, and asked, "What is it,
Sahib--what disturbs you? If it is a question, ask me."

His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "Just nothing that a man
should bother over--that he should ask a woman about."

But almost involuntarily he brushed his face across her black hair and
said, "Just that, Gulab--that it's like burying one's nose in a rose."

"The attar, Sahib? I love it because it's gentle."

"Ah, that's why you wore the rose that I came by at the _nautch_?"

"Yes, Sahib. Though I am Bootea, because of a passion for the rose I am
called Gulab."

"Lovely--the Rose! that's just what you are, Gulab. But the attar is so