The old woman looked at her piercingly with eyes that gleamed from amid
a bunch of wrinkles, then motioned with a skinny arm in the direction
of an awning where shade was to be had from the dangerous early
sun-rays. She made no move to enter through the arch until her
mistress had taken shelter.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged with Ali Partab, who looked sleepy,
but still more ashamed of his unmilitary dishabille. Rosemary McClean
glanced left and right--forgot about the awning and the custom which
decrees aloofness--ignored the old woman's waving arm and Ali
Partab's frown, and rode toward him eagerly.

"Did Mahommed Gunga-sahib leave you here with any orders relative to
me?" she asked.

The Rajput bowed.

"Before he went away, he spoke to me of safety, and told me he would
leave a link between me and men whom I may trust."

The Rajput bowed again. Neither of them saw an elbow laid on the
window-ledge of a room above the arch; it disappeared, and very
gingerly a bared black head replaced it. Then the head too disappeared.

The girl's eyes sparkled as the reassurance came that at least one good
fighting man was waiting to do nothing but assist her. For the moment
she threw caution to the winds and remembered nothing but her plight
and her father's stubbornness.