"And I have answered oftener than once that I do not need your
friendship, and am not afraid of you! You forget that the British
Government will hold your royal brother liable for my safety and my
father's!"

"You, too, overlook certain things, sahiba." He spoke evenly, with a
little space between each word. With the dark look that accompanied
it, with the blood barely dry yet on the dusty road behind, his speech
was not calculated to reassure a slip of a girl, gray-eyed or not,
stiff-chinned or not, borne up or not by Scots enthusiasm for a cause.
"This is a native state. My brother rules. The British--"

"Are near enough, and strong enough, to strike and to bring you and
your brother to your knees if you harm a British woman!" she retorted.
"You forget--when the British Government gives leave to missionaries
to go into a native state, it backs them up with a strong arm!"

"You build too much on the British and my brother, sahiba! Listen--
Howrah is as strong as I am, and no stronger. Had he been stronger, he
would have slain me long ago. The British are--" He checked himself
and trotted beside her in silence for a minute. She affected complete
indifference; it was as though she had not heard him; if she could
not be rid of him, she at least knew how to show him his utter
unimportance in her estimation.

"Have you heard, sahiba, of the Howrah treasure? Of the rubies? Of
the pearls? Of the emeralds? Of the bars of gold? It is foolishness,
of course; we who are modern-minded see the crime of hoarding all that
wealth, and adding to it, for twenty generations. Have you heard of