"And meaning, Sahib, it would not be right if they saw you bearing on
your horse one who is not a memsahib?"

"As to that, Gulab, what might be thought by men of low rank is of no
consequence."

"But if the Sahib wishes to overtake them my burden upon the horse will
be an evil, and he will be sorry that Bootea had not shame sufficient to
refuse his help."

She felt the strong arm press her body closer, and heard him laugh. But
still he did not answer, did not say why he was interested in the two
horsemen. If it were vital, and she believed it was, for him to know
that they lay dead at the Bagree camp, it was wrong for her to not tell
him this, he who was a preserver. But to tell him would send him to his
death. She knew, as all the people of that land knew, that the sahibs
went where their Raja told them was their mission, and laughed at death;
and the face of this one spoke of strength, and the eyes of placid
fearlessness; so she said nothing.

The sandal soles that pinched her soft flesh she felt were a
reproach--they had something to do with the thing that was between the
Sahib and the dead soldiers. There were tears in her eyes and she
shivered.

Barlow, feeling this, said: "You're cold, Gulab, the night-wind that
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, b