my own despot.

"So you have been up the Khyber Pass," she said as I fell into
step at her side. "Tell me - was it as wonderful as you
expected?"

"No, no, -you tell me! It will give me what I missed. Begin at
the beginning. Tell me what I saw."

I could not miss the delight of her words, and she laughed,
knowing my whim.

"Oh, that Pass! -the wonder of those old roads that have borne
the traffic and romance of the world for ages. Do you think there
is anything in the world so fascinating as they are? But did you
go on Tuesday or Friday?"

For these are the only days in the week when the Khyber can be
safely entered. The British then turn out the Khyber Rifles and
man every crag, and the loaded caravans move like a tide, and go
up and down the narrow road on their occasions.

Naturally mere sightseers are not welcomed, for much business
must be got through in that urgent forty eight hours in which
life is not risked in entering.

"Tuesday. But make a picture for me."

"Well, you gave your word not to photograph or sketch - as if one
wanted to when every bit of it is stamped on one's brain! And you